


Like Dust On Your Soul

by buttheyrebrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3513455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttheyrebrothers/pseuds/buttheyrebrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with 31 years there was not much Dean Winchester hadn’t seen before. But for the first time he truly felt like he was going crazy. Nuts. Totally off the rocker. And it was not because of something strange and abnormal being in his vicinity (which felt like a welcome change, by the way) but because something was missing. Someone. Even thinking about it made his head hurt. This was the third day in a row he seriously doubted his own mind and he was so sick of it. And the constant headache would not even be the worst he was about to suffer. No. Those were the dreams.</p><p>Or: The one in which the events in "The song remains the same" led to Sam never being born. But why is Dean remembering him then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tofu_is_amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tofu_is_amazing/gifts).



> This is the first part of a (hopefully) longer verse, The Unborn Verse. I can't promise regular updates because life is super busy right now but I love this story and I want to finish it badly.
> 
> This story started as a sad head-canon I used to torture my good friend but thanks to her it's now a fully flexed plot bunny. Hence, this is for you Rose.
> 
> Beta service again from the most amazing thefreakfox (you can say 'Hi' here: http://thefreakfox.tumblr.com/). You're as British as breakfast tea dear and I love you for it.

Even with 31 years there was not much Dean Winchester hadn’t seen before. But for the first time he truly felt like he was going crazy. Nuts. Totally off the rocker. And it was not because of something strange and abnormal being in his vicinity (which felt like a welcome change, by the way) but because something was missing. _Someone_. Even thinking about it made his head hurt. This was the third day in a row he seriously doubted his own mind and he was so sick of it. And the constant headache would not even be the worst he was about to suffer. No. Those were the dreams.

_ 4 days earlier _

Dean Winchester was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, hunting a Rugaru. It was the fourth day in the most boring place ever and he already slept with everyone who was worth sleeping with. And that weren’t that many people given that this assemblage of barns had only one bar, if you could even call it that. It looked more like just another barn with some tables and alcohol. At least that had left him with plenty of time to hunt this fucker down and burn him.

The problem was that the Rugaru hadn’t killed anybody yet, so finding the thing had been harder than he originally thought. Caleb only told him that the father of this thing turned about 20 years ago and was killed by another hunter after he had killed his wife. It was only later that they found out he had a son. Tracking him down was no fun but he had Caleb to do the research and together they managed. Now this thing was only ashes and Dean was ready to drop dead on the spot. He stumbled back to the motel and crashed into his unmade bed. Tomorrow his father would call and he could report a hunt well done.

His last thought was how the silence in his room suddenly felt more oppressing than calming. There was a shift, the air filled with tension like a thunderstorm approaching. And for a moment he felt truly alone, like the last person alive and an unknown emptiness was clawing at his insides. Scowling at himself for his ridiculous thoughts, he turned around and resolutely closed his eyes. He needed to get back on the road, that was all. He drifted off to an uneasy sleep, dreams haunted by kaleidoscopic colours and a sweet smile.

_ Also 4 days earlier _

Dean Winchester was in Lawrence, Kansas to stop an angel from killing his whole family. Seeing the young and happy faces of his parents again felt as strange as the first time he made the trip back in time. Maybe even more so knowing his father was only alive because of a demon deal his mum had made and that John Winchester knew nothing about. It was hard to reconcile this hopeful and careless man with the seasoned hunter he grew up with. He wished he didn’t know either.

At least Sam was with him. Things were still a bit strained between them but that would never change the feeling of rightness he had when Sam was at his side. Safe. Warm. Still breathing. The rest they could deal with. They always had. And he was going to fight anyone and anything that tried to change that.

Like Anna. He knew he betrayed her for Sam, but she had to know that there simply was no choice. It was always gonna be Sam. He really did like her but if she tried to take his brother from him he wouldn’t hesitate to take her apart.

And so it happened that he was angelproofing his childhood home with his deceased parents and his brother. Even for them that sounded like an episode of Twilight Zone.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any crazier, he found himself discussing the future with a woman who will mother him and his brother and then just die. And it hurts so much to see her face when she realizes that all her fears came true. Of course Sam had to go and tell your mum it would be better if she never has you in the first place. And yes, he is right. It’s fucked up, but he is right.

But then Mary says five words that change everything. “It’s too late. I’m pregnant.”

And wow, awkward much. That’s him in there and he can’t help but be relieved that Sam and he will still be born. Even if it would be easier if not. As long as they’re together, they’ll find a way. Sam and he against the world. And that’s the last conscious thought he remembers before all hell breaks loose.

_ 3 days earlier _

Waking up came slow, slower than usual anyway. He was used to being on alert 24/7. Had to be, hunting alone.

No, that was not right. Sam was there and usually up before him. He had no idea where this thought had come from. Maybe he should take it a bit easy on hunter’s little helper before going to bed. The last time he got used to sleeping with one eye open was years ago. Stanford.

When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was already streaming into the room and he was facing the door, which he was closest to. Like always. But when he turned around to check if Sam was already up and getting breakfast he was greeted with a disturbing sight.

There was _no other bed_. Even with Sam at Stanford he never ordered a single. He preferred to sleep in the Impala to save money anyway and on the rare occasions he needed to get a room (because he didn’t want to bleed on the upholstery) he always got a double. Because he needed space to store the weapons and his stuff. Doubles were also cleaner and more easily available of course.

So the most pressing matter at hand clearly was _why was he in a single motel room_? _And for Christ’s sake where the hell was Sam?_

After getting out of bed he started to take stock. His belongings seem to be complete, there was his duffel and the one with the weapons next to it. But no trace of another duffel, of another human in the room. No purple toothbrush. No second take-out box or coffee-cup from last morning. Nada.

He tried to think back, but the only thing that came to his mind when he tried to remember how he got here was more motel rooms, all looking like this one. Littered with take-out, beer bottles (or more often than not something stronger) everywhere. Single bed. One duffel. Loneliness.

Something was definitely not right. His breathing started to pick up. He had no idea what happened _but Sam was not here_. And it seemed like he never had been.

He closed his eyes and willed his breathing to slow down. Freaking out would help exactly no one. He tried to think of his brother’s face and was relieved when he saw it behind his closed eyes with an aching familiarity. And close behind was a row of motel rooms with two queens, slept in and a duffel on each. Salad boxes. A laptop.

Already a bit calmer with these images in his mind he started to convince himself that he would figure this out. Something was very wrong right now and he would figure out what and fix it. And then he would get Sam back. Easy as pie.

_ 3 days ALS (after losing Sam) _

That was 3 days ago. 72 hours. 4320 Minutes. And he was no closer to finding Sam than he was then. Sure, he had some pieces of information, but honestly? They made it worse.

Like his dead father calling him. Apparently not dead. It said a lot about the last days that it wasn’t even that shocking. True, he was still rendered speechless when his phone rang two days ago, showing three letters as caller ID. _Dad_. It took him 5 rings before he got his body working enough to pick the phone up.

The talk with his dad was short, efficient. He asked how the hunt went and for a short moment Dean thought he was asking about Anna and Michael and the whole angel mess. But then his mind supplied him with ‘ _Rugaru. Burned him. No deaths._ ’ So he told this to his father and got a short “Good.” for his troubles. So at least some things didn’t change.

He very casually asked if John had heard from Sam before they ended their talk.

“Sam? Is this a hunter I should know? Son, I haven’t heard from any Sam since I was with the marines.” John answered dismissive.

"It's a hunter I met, I forgot it was on a solo hunt. Nothing important." It hurt Dean to say that in relation to Sam but he very well couldn't say 'He is my brother. Your son. How can you not know him?' Even if his churning stomach begged to differ. He hastily changed the subject.

"Where will we meet up? I'm finished here, I can meet you wherever you want or back you up if you're still on a hunt." And the thought of not only speaking to his dad, who was dead for over 3 years now, but to actually see him conjured the first tentative smile on his face since he woke up in bizarre situation. That was until he remembered the last time he spoke to someone in another universe who was supposedly dead. _Djinn_.

"Did you hear me Dean? And what's with a Djinn? You hunting one?" John's voice startled him back to the present. He must have said that out loud.

"I'm sorry, I...I just saw something on the internet about Djinns. Totally incorrect of course. Civilians." he added with a slightly annoyed sigh for his father’s benefit. "Anyway, I didn't catch what you were saying."

It was John's turn to sigh. "I said I'm still very busy with this vampire nest in Oregon. I think it's best if you look for another hunt, son. We can meet up later. You're old enough to work more gigs on your own now, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir." Even to his own ears he sounded strangled but he learned to pick his fights with his dad and this was not one of them. He also needed some time to get the whole missing brother situation under control and asking John for help was his last resort. It felt too much like giving up.

"Good. I need to go now. It could be a while till I'll be able to call again. You'll be fine?" His dad was all business but the last question sounded different. He wouldn't say soft or worried, things his dad barely was and never showed but earnest. Like he really cared for his answer.

"Yes dad. It's gonna be okay. Take care." He added, sounding softer then he intended.

"You too, son."

He always thought talking to his dad one last time would be anything he ever wanted but now it only made him feel even more lost than before. Whereas he couldn't believe his luck when he first met his mum in the world the Djinn had created, blissfully unaware that it was all a deadly lie, now he felt a sad resignation. He knew he couldn't keep his dad. And as horrible as it sounded, even in his own head, if keeping him meant no Sam than he knew what he would choose. _Always_.

But he was also reasonably sure that this was not a Djinn. They were supposed to give you this perfect fantasy. And even if the last one wasn't perfect either, his father dead and Sammy and him estranged, this was worse. So he needed to find out what had happened before he woke up in bizzaro-world.


	2. Chapter 2

Finding out what happened was hard because his head was kinda fuzzy. He had his memories but they were like the stormy sea, unsteady and not graspable. Not only that, but there were memories _beneath_ his memories. Things that presumably happened to him but also didn't. And that made him dizzy as well.

Sam would've probably figured it out already. But Sam was not here. Why was Sam _not here_? He would end up with an aneurism if he kept this up so he told himself to calm the fuck down and ask himself one very important question: What would Sam Winchester do?

He would power up his laptop and research the shit out of it. The problem was that Dean had no idea where to start. He tried to remember what their last hunt was about; maybe that would give him some clues where to start. He was sure about one thing: it was not a Rugaru, even if this memory was on the forefront of his mind. He remembered clearly a call from Caleb telling him about the son of a Rugaru he had hunted down 20 years ago and asking if Dean would take a look at the case. But that happened here, in this cheapskate version of a reality. No, he and Sam were onto something different, more important. He could feel it in his bones, it was something life changing. Life changing. Like Sam not being there anymore.

And then it hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Of course, it was about something trying to accomplish exactly that: Sam being no longer there. But it must have been somewhat successful because here he was, alone. He tried to dig deeper, to find out what monster could be strong enough to erase Sam from the equation. There were not many things who could change reality, not even demons were powerful enough for that as far as he knew. But what then? He went through all the things he knew that went bump in the night, and when it finally came to him he was a bit ashamed of how long it took him. _Angels_. Switching realities certainly messed with his head.

They tried to save Sam's life because Anna wanted to kill their parents so that Lucifer's vessel would never been born. How could he have forgotten about it? He needed to remind himself again to stay calm, but it was hard because finally he was on to something. How did they try to stop Anna from her plan, then?

Of course with the help of Castiel! And wasn't that the answer he was looking for.

"Castiel can you hear me? I would come up with a fancier prayer but I need you here RIGHT NOW!" The last bit was louder and more demanding that he intended it to be but then again, he’d lost his little brother three days ago. He was allowed to lose his temper.

Nothing happened.

"Cas, please. Come on. I _need_ you." If anger wouldn't help him he was not above begging. Didn't mean he had to like it but it was worth it.

But still, nothing.

"Please, man. I'm begging you. Answer me. It's about Sam, Cas. He's not here and I don't know where he is. I don't know if he is hurt or lonely or..." _dead_. But he couldn't say it, couldn't even really think it, his consciousness skittering around the word. "I need to find him, Cas. Please, you need to help me find him. It's _Sam_." And his voice is breaking at the name, just as much as his heart ever since his eyes couldn't find his little brother.

Putting his head in his hands and letting his shoulders sag, he allowed himself a moment of weakness. He was so fucking tired. His eyes burned, his head was pounding and his stomach was in knots. He didn’t know what to do next. He already tried calling Sam’s cell phones but all numbers except one did not work and the one that did led him to the mailbox of one Lisa Harris and he didn’t thought she knew anything about Sam. He also searched the internet for Sam’s name, not surprised he didn’t found him, not even on the ‘Wanted’ list of the FBI. What did surprise him was that he didn’t found his name either. That was weird.

Also weird was that he found articles about the fire that took his mum (and wasn’t that proof enough that it was not a djinn? His mum was still gone and now his brother too.) they only spoke about the widower John Winchester and the Winchesters’ only child, Dean. So the fire happened, not in Sam’s nursery but in his. _What the hell_? And it was not on the 2 nd of November that it happened either. It was the 24th of June the same year. He suddenly had a very bad feeling about the whole thing.

As much as it bothered him there was not much he could find out on his own about it and he doubted his father would be willing to talk about it. Like, at all. So he did what they always did when they hit a roadblock with research, he called Bobby. He should have guessed it wasn’t that easy though.

“Who’s there?” came a gruff voice after the first ring. Dean already breathed a bit easier.

“Bobby? It’s me, Dean. How are you, old man? You woul…” he started but was abruptly cut off.

“Dean who? Listen kid, I ain’t time for idle chit chat. What do you want?”

Dean was shell-shocked for a second. Sure, Bobby tended to be grumpy and rough around the edges but he never spoke like this to him or Sam. They were his _family_. So it took him a bit to answer.

“Dean Winchester. Bobby, come on! We talk at least every two weeks and you never greet me like this.” He was hit by a wave of longing and despair. He wanted to get back to his old life, his real life. _His home_. He was sick of this world where everything was just so wrong.

“Winchester? As in John Winchester? You’re his son? I’d never expect to hear from you. Or from your old man after I chased him off my yard. So what do you mean, we talk at least twice a week. Son, the last time I saw you you still had your baby teeth.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. This could not be true. He had two decades of memories that begged to differ. Him and Bobby in the park, playing catch. Bobby making him and Sam dinner while they stayed at the Singer residence for a few weeks. Bobby taking him and Dean hunting. The normal kind, with deer and other game. But there were also other memories there. Long summers spent alone in some hunting cabin, his father gone, working a case Dean wasn’t allowed on. Loneliness. So much of it that it threatened to drown him. How both could be true somehow, he had no idea, but he knew they were.

“You still there?” Dean tried to convince himself that he heard something like worry in Bobby’s voice so that he could find the strength to continue.

“Yeah, sorry, still here. I’m John Winchester’s son and I remembered that you were friends…” a snort “and that you know a lot about many things and…” Dean cleared his suddenly dry throat. “And I need your help.”

There was silence on the other end for a long, dreadful minute. "Oh for Christ sake, I have no idea why you thought of me or why I'm even considering this but let's hear what you think I could help you with. But I ain't doin' that for John, just so we're clear."

"Yes, sir. And thank you."

"Oh spare me the sir, I ain't your father, boy. So what is it you need help with? I won't hide any more bodies in my yard." That sounded so much like the Bobby he knew - and fiercely missed - that a slight chuckle escaped Dean despite his situation.

"Don't worry old man. I don't want to hide a body, I need to find one... A living one!" he added hastily because boy, did that sound wrong. "I already tried everything I could think of, searching federal databases, national and international, looked through all registers I could think off, tried all his usual aliases...And I got nothing." the last bit sounded as defeated as he felt.

"First, I won't ask where you learned to do all that because even most hunters aren't that well versed with illegal research. Second, it sounds like you already were very thorough. I'm not sure I can do much more. Except you think..."

"Something supernatural was involved, yes. Listen, Bobby, it's not like he just walked out and succeeded in hiding very well. It's like he never existed in the first place but I _know_ he did. But it seems like no one else does. So yeah, I'm thinking something supernatural." He hoped Bobby didn't think of him as a nut job now. He felt like the little boy in The Sixth Sense, whispering _'I see dead people.'_

"Kid that sounds crazy, even for a hunter. You mean to tell me that there is this guy no one knows even exists - except you - and you want me to help you find him?" The seasoned hunter had all rights to sound doubtful but it still bugged Dean. He couldn't make up shit like this, even if he wanted. Life would always find more ways to screw with him than he could ever come up with.

"I know how it sounds, okay. I know. But it's still true. I know he exists and that something happened so that he doesn't anymore, at least not here. Something bad. And I need to fix it, Bobby." He maybe sounded more passionate and forceful than Bobby would've expected because he was again answered by silence.

After another long minute - at least for Dean - he got an answer. "I'm not saying I don't believe you Dean. I'm just saying that it sounds crazy, even crazier than the usual stuff we deal with. So who is he to you that it is so important to find him?" The tone was appeasing but also caring, like he really wanted to understand the situation and Dean was never more thankful for this gruff old man he loved like a father. And that was the reason he decided to tell Bobby the truth. Because if he wouldn't believe him then nobody would and he preferred to know where he stood.

"He's my little brother. Sam Winchester." He heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

"But as far as I know John had only one kid, you. Or did he...?" Bobby trailed off, sounding uneasy, and suddenly Dean knew what he was thinking.

"NO! No, he didn't have another kid with some woman. Sam is the son of John and Mary Winchester, just as much as I am. He was born 4 years after me, May 2nd 1983. At least he was where I am from. Here it is somehow different." He didn't knew how to explain the mess he was in and doing it over the phone did not seem to help either. "Listen Bobby, can we talk? I mean face to face. I'm somewhere in Ohio but I could be at your place tomorrow?" he couldn't help but let the last part out as a question. Sure, Bobby was nice enough given the crazy story Dean was telling but this didn’t have to mean he was willing to meet up with some probable nut job. But he just had to visit the man, for more reasons than to get to the bottom of his current situation.

"Uh...sure kiddo, you can drop by if you like. Not sure if I can help you though. But, well, I'll try. You know where to find me I assume?"

Dean could barely contain the gratitude he was feeling. He let out a shuddered sigh. "Yeah, I know. I understand that it sounds strange to you but where I am from your place is like a second home to me." Bobby's only answer to this was more of this oppressive silence; but what was there to say anyway? At least he didn't outright refuse to meet up. So Dean risked to speak about a topic that was on his mind for the last three days; but still, he had no idea how to approach it. So he did it the Dean Winchester way, making things up as he goes.

"Bobby, another thing. You know that protection charm you have? An amulet, the one with the horns, looks kinda Indian?" He held his breath waiting for Bobby's answer.

"How do you know about that?" That was answer enough. So Bobby had it. _His amulet_. After the shock of waking up alone had worn off a bit he noticed that it was missing. It was the moment he was sure that Sam did not just walk out on him, that he didn't left Dean out of his own volition. The thought should have frightened him more but instead it gave him a glimmer of hope. Sam didn't want to leave so Dean just had to find him and everything would be okay again.

"You gave it to Sam when we were kids, told him it was special, a protection charm. He gave it to me on Christmas 1991. I...I need it back Bobby. It's all I have of Sam here. _Please_." He was distantly aware that he had never begged as much in his whole life than he did on one day but what was his pride compared to his heart and soul? "I know how it sounds and that it is hard to believe me but how else could I know about this thing? Tomorrow you can test me for anything we know, demon, shapeshifter, anything. But please, if there is even one small part of you that believes me you gotta give me this amulet."

"Fine, fine, calm down. I have no idea how you know about it but I sure as hell will test you tomorrow. I'm still not saying I believe because, kid, this story is ten different kinds of crazy. But we'll see about the amulet tomorrow. Now get your ass here, the sooner we talk about this the sooner I have my peace back." Bobby gruffed as a goodbye and then the line went dead. Still, Dean held the phone to his ear for some time after that, too caught up in his thoughts to put it down. This whole situation was fucked up and he just felt helpless. Sure, relatively spoken the talk with Bobby went well, better than expected maybe. Or maybe not because he felt like the Bobby he knew would have believed him. Still, he hoped the old man would hear him out tomorrow and maybe come up with some ideas Dean himself hadn't had considered yet. That was all he could really hope for. That and getting his amulet back. Not because of the protection charm but because he felt naked without it, incomplete. He had it since he was 12 and he could count the times he took it off on both hands. Yes, it sucked when he clipped a tooth with it during a fight but it also was an anchor for him, cradled in his palm whenever he felt anxious or alone. A constant reminder that he wasn't, that there was a person who loved him enough to want him be protected at all times. No matter if they were apart or angry at one another, this amulet was a symbol. Of love. Of trust. Dean told Sam the truth all this years ago when no one else did. He was there when his brother needed him, always. That was what this was about, getting this symbol back, feeling closer to Sam until he had him back as well.

It was strange thinking of this fateful Christmas Eve all these years ago. Of Sam being upset with their absent father and learning the truth about all the things that were out to get them. Of him sneaking presents from another family under their tree so that Sam could believe a bit longer in something good and pure like Christmas. And of Sam, giving him a small bundle wrapped in newspapers.

_A very young Sam holding out the present to him he specifically wrapped for their dad, making it a secret, all proud of himself. "Here, take this." A still young Dean being shocked that Sam would even contemplate of giving this to him, especially after his fuck up with the Barbie. He couldn't take it._

_"No. No, that’s for Dad." But Sam wouldn't have any of this._

_"Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." And there, in his still so innocent face lies the truth. There is disappointment in their Dad, some of the anger Sam showed more and more, but also love, simple and pure. Trust. Gratitude to Dean for being honest with Sam. Still, he has to ask._

_"You sure?" And there it is, a gift on his own, Sam's dimpled grin beaming up at him._

_“I’m sure." Dean knows how important it is to act manly, to not show a weakness like feelings because they could always be used against you. He still couldn't help his throat closing up, the tightness in his chest choking him. He barely gets the words out he so desperately needs to say. "Thank you, Sam. I–I love it."_

He could still see it in front of his eyes like it was yesterday. But as true as this felt to Dean there was also another film playing in his head that, somehow, was just as true.

_His younger self is cowering behind a bush, loaded 1911 in his hands. His Dad went into the barn as bait, he wants do draw out the werewolf so Dean can shoot it. He is terrified of missing, of getting the only person he has left in this world killed. But he holds himself still, soundless. He is going to make his Dad proud and then, maybe, they could share a quiet Christmas Day together for once. Just the two of them, no research, no hunt. Maybe, if he is really good, they could spend some time outside in the snow until they're frozen and then warm up with hot cacao. His thoughts distract him for only a second but it is enough._

_"Dean! Shoot!"_

_Startled, his first shoot misses about half a feet. The beast is close to his father, way too close, getting ready to attack any second now. He aims again. The bullet pierces through the air and Dean feels like everything is going in slow motion. It hits its target square in the chest but not before one of his huge claws rips into his Dad's left side. They both go down and Dean sprints towards them, crying out "Dad! Dad! Are you alright? I'm so sorry, so so sorry."_

_He skitters to halt in front of the man before his knees give out. His father's groan sounds painful. He looks at Dean, not saying a word. But he doesn't need to, his eyes say it all. There is anger, which Dean expected. But there is also disappointment and it cuts through Dean like a butcher’s knife, leaving his insides bleeding. He spends the evening sewing up his Dad in silence, swearing to himself to never let himself get distracted from stupid hopes and dreams. The only thing that matters was getting the job right so that nobody had to die. It will be the last year he ever wasted a thought on Christmas either._

It was confusing and upsetting to have these memories he never made in the first place, a bit like he felt when he first read Chuck's books but also worse because at least it was him who lived through this, _all of him_. He knew that his childhood was not a model for growing up healthy, but he always felt that it could have been worse (something Sam had seemed to forget in his own teenage years). And he was right, it could've been. It was Sam who gave him happy memories filled with joy and laughter even throughout dark times, like stars shining in the black night sky. Without him the sky was filled with clouds, too thick to even see the light of the moon, just more of the sameness a dark sky brought.

He always thought he put so much effort in every Christmas, Birthday, Easter and any other holiday for Sam alone but that was not true he realized. They brought him just as much joy and happiness. Sure, he still missed his mum fiercely on these occasions, but they made their own traditions, just the two of them. Like it always has been. Like it should always be.

He had to physically shake the thoughts and feelings haunting him, clashing memories of laughter bright as the sun and endless days spent sad and lonely, building an ever hardening wall around his heart. It didn’t matter, he would get Sam back and leave this excuse for a life behind him. He just had to get moving.

That’s how he found himself outside the motel room 15 minutes later, ready to hit the road. With what he had to do that was another story. Because right in front of him was not his Baby but a 1969 Chevy Camaro. And of course it was a classic car and very beautiful, but it lacked something very important: all the memories he and his family made in it. The Impala was the car he and Sam learned driving with. It was where he sang Sam to sleep so many times, where they found shelter if they couldn’t afford a motel. It was the place he and Sam shared their first kiss and many that were to follow. She was there in the beginning and she should be there now. And even if here, she didn’t held all these memories, he’d still be glad to have the familiar roaring underneath his thighs.

He wistfully thought back to the day his father gave the Impala to him. It was about two months after Sam left for Stanford. His father and he just finished cleaning a vampire nest and were settled in the motel when his Dad handed him the keys.

_"Here son. Take them." John says it like it's nothing special, an everyday occurrence, when in reality, Dean is barely allowed to drive the Impala when they hunt together._

_"But Dad...I don't understand." His confusion must be clear on his face because John's face softened a fraction._

_"I want you to have it. It's about time you get your own car and you’re used to this one. Bobby'll comes by tomorrow to bring me another one. I know you'll take good care of it. Right?" he added sternly. No matter what he said, Dean knows how much his father loves this car. Maybe not as much as him but it's a close thing._

_"I will. I promise. I'll take very good care of her." He knows how amusing his Dad finds him calling the Impala a 'she'. And he's right, there is a slight grin on his father's face and not before long does he feel an answering one on his own. Huh. It felt strange, unused. The first one in over two months. And when he sees John's grin widening he realizes why his Dad gave him the car. For a moment he was overtaken by love for his old man, warmth spreading through his body. And for the first time since Sam left and took all the light with him Dean feels like he could breathe again._

His father may not have been a man of many words but one thing Dean took from him was that sometimes actions spoke louder than words. He could see the love John had for his boys in everything he did even if he seemed too distant and hard from the outside. He raised them like he did to protect them, to make sure they could survive whatever came their way. Sam always had trouble seeing it like he did. Growing up Sam craved affection, words of love and reassurance. Things his Dad couldn't give. Dean tried but it was also hard for him, he preferred his father's way of showing his love in more subtle gestures and most of the time Sam understood them like he said the words out loud. It was only later, when Sam was a teenager and full of anger and confusion that Dean's gestures ceased to have an impression on Sam. He wanted what other people had, other couples. He wanted to hold hands in public, cuddling and most of all he wanted Dean to say 'I love you'. And when Dean wouldn't do that, just couldn't, he got angry with him too. Not for long, they never stayed mad at each other for long. Sam would fume for a few days and then Dean would do something a bit bigger than usual, a picnic or a visit to the local fair, breakfast in bed and Sam would kiss him, long and deep and everything would be good again. Until the next fight.

That all changed when Sam told him about Stanford. _A full ride Dean. I have to go Dean, it's the chance of my life. Come with me Dean_. But Dean just couldn't leave their father behind; they were the only family left. So he refused. He would never forget the look in Sam's eyes. Hurt, betrayal, disappointment. But worst of all, resignation. Like he expected nothing else, like he expected them to end anyway, like all good things did for them. It broke Dean's heart to see his little brother so utterly defeated.

The days afterwards dragged endlessly, neither of them acknowledging the elephant in the room, tense silence a constant companion. After the epic shouting match between Sam and John, he was the one to drive Sam to the bus station. They parked in front of it and just kept silent for what seemed like hours. Dean had no idea what to say, nothing to make it better, so he said nothing at all. But when Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and got ready to leave Dean's life, maybe forever, one word broke out of him. The only word that ever mattered. " _Sammy_."

Sam's head had whipped around instantly, staring intently at Dean, hope in his slanted eyes. But Dean couldn't give him what he needed and maybe that was why Sam left. He hoped his brother would find it where he was heading, he deserved it. All of it and more. So he just grabbed Sam's shirt and pulled him in. They shared one last kiss. It was not gentle. It was desperate and painful, a perfect mirror of how they felt and it lasted the shortest eternity Dean ever experienced.

Dean waited till the headlights of the bus were long gone before he headed back to their motel room, only to find his father passed out beneath an empty bottle of Jack. And that was how one of the worst days of his life ended. After that night he became a shell of his former self. He thought he hid it well because his father never said anything. But apparently he was wrong. And sure, the Impala was not Sam, not even close, but the gesture alone helped him. That evening he swore to himself to at least try. He decided to stay with John, to continue helping him and to continue saving people. He owed it to himself then to do it right. And maybe he never again felt like the young and naive man he once was, carefree and in love. But he carried on.

Here, in bizzaro-world, all of this never happened. There was no Sam, hence no need for John to help Dean overcome his sadness and depression. So Dean got himself a car as close to the Impala as he could get. The Camaro was built in the same style as his baby, it was a classic car at its finest, and he felt that the Dean in this universe loved it nearly as much as Dean loved the Impala. So he sucked it up, got in the car and headed eastbound on the interstate towards South Dakota.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the third chapter of 'Like dust on your soul'. I'm so sorry you had to wait so long and I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. I want to thank everyone who gave Kudos to this work, bookmarked it or commented on tumblr. You keep me going!
> 
> A special thanks goes to my wonderful beta thefreakfox. Without you this story wouldn't have a single comma. She has the patience of an angel with me and I love her for it. Any remaining mistakes are mine but you can keep them against a fee.

It was roughly 900 miles to Sioux Falls, a distance most drivers could do in 14 hours if they didn't stop on the way. One of the downsides of owning a classic American car surely was that he needed to feed it more often than one of these eco-friendly fuel-saving toy cars people drove these days. But he could also push it harder and he was determined to make it in 12 hours. He only stopped for gas, using gas station restrooms and buying snacks he could eat behind the wheel. He drove like a madman, possessed. Now that he had a destination, something to do, he couldn't bear the thought of wasting one second.

And so it came that he was greeted at Singers Salvage Yard by the rising sun in the east and a growling Rumsfeld right in front of him.

"Hey boy. It's me. C'mon. Everything's alright. Gooood boy." His - admittedly quite pathetic - tries to calm the angry Rottweiler were pretty useless. This Rumsfeld didn't know him and was hell bent on protecting his home from the strange man in front of him. There was no way getting to the house without hurting the dog and Dean was sure if he did this all chances that Bobby would help him would be lost. He just hated big growling dogs and given his backstory who could blame him?

But before he really had to make a decision he heard a shout. "Down boy!" He spun around to face the front door and was never more relieved to see the seasoned hunter standing there with his shotgun ready. "Is it custom in the universe you're from to bother people to this godforsaken time? It's 5 fucking am you yahoo."

Dean couldn't help but smile at that. "The sun's already risin'. I thought old people don't need that much sleep anyway?" He answered, cocky grin in place. Bobby continued to scowl at him but he totally saw that beard twitch. "So can I come in or what?" He knew that his attitude could get him into trouble if this guy was not like the Bobby he knew but he couldn't help it. It felt too good to act like he was used to instead of walking on eggshells, wondering what was going on.

But Bobby just beckoned him over with the barrel of his gun. Rumsfeld continued to growl low in his throat but stayed put. Thank god for small mercies. When Dean was in arm's reach of Bobby he stopped, anticipating what was about to come next. And Bobby didn't disappoint.

Before he could brace himself he had some holy water flung at his face, swiftly followed by some salt. And just when he was about to make some joke about missing some herbals for taste Bobby took his arm and sliced him with a silver knife. There was nothing like being welcomed by fellow hunters.

"See? I'm no demon or shapeshifter. I'm not possessed by anything. Are you willing to talk to me now or do you want to probe me some more?" Dean couldn't help that he sounded a little vexed. He knew he said to Bobby to test him and that it was basically protocol to do so but the way Bobby did it made him feel like he was just like any other hunter coming here for help. Like he meant nothing to the man in front of him- which he didn't, at least in this fucked up version of reality. He suddenly ached with longing for home. Sure, there waited an apocalypse for him and two angels wanted to wear him and Sam to prom but still, at least there he knew his place and he had his north with him. Here, he was lost, a meaningless shout into the void.

"I'm sorry princess but you know the protocol. Now come on in to lick your wounds with a drink while you tell me more about your crazy reality hopping." With that Bobby turned around and led Dean in the familiar old house. It looked the same way he was used to, it even smelled like it. Bobby too, even if Dean couldn't help but think he looked a bit less worn. Well not having to deal with all the Winchester antics these past 5 years certainly spared the man some grief. They reached the living room and Bobby placed himself behind his study, whereas Dean instinctively grabbed for the nearest chair to straddle it backwards, facing the older hunter while leaning on his arms. He tried for nonchalant to put Bobby and himself at ease and it seemed to work, because not long after he was rewarded with a tumbler of whiskey.

"So tell me, son. What's the deal with this whole 'from an alternative universe where everything is different' stick?" And even if he expected this question Dean still needed a moment to gather his thoughts, so he stalled for time with taking a sip from his Whiskey, relishing the slow burn in his throat.

"I don't even know where to start, man. And don't start with 'How about at the beginning' because I'm still not sure when exactly this whole mess started." Here he stopped, thinking. "Well, actually, I think I know the _when_ , just not the how or why. Me and Sam, we travelled back in time to stop someone from killing our parents and after we succeeded I woke up in this hotel room, alone. Sam nowhere in sight. And why are you looking at me like your eyebrow wants to hide under your cap?" Dean interrupted himself slightly annoyed. Yeah sure, it sounded a bit strange but for a hunter...

"You and your somehow lost brother travelled back in time? To save your parents from being killed by 'something'?" Here he even made exaggerated air quotes. Smart ass.

"Yes!"

"And what was that 'something'?" Again with the air quotes.

Even before he muttered "Angels" Dean knew what Bobby's reaction would be. " _Angels_? With halos and feathery asses? Holier than thou Angels?" He didn't even try to hide the incredulity in his voice.

"I know how it sounds, okay? I know! But where I am from you actually were the guy who tried to convince _me_ that they could be real. There are demons and apparently there are angels too. But they’re dicks. Feathery dicks that can't be trusted." Bobby still looked dubious but at least he didn't laugh at Dean and his eye brow lowered a bit _. Small things, Dean_ , he said to himself.

"Okay, say you are right and there are angels. Why haven't I heard of them before? And why do they want to kill your parents? Oh and while we’re at it; how did you manage to time travel?"

"You haven't heard of them because they don't like humans, they just stay in heaven and play harp or whatever. The first time they showed in my reality was when they tried to jumpstart the apocalypse and..."

"Wait wait wait! What? The apocalypse, like in 'the end of the world' apocalypse? Why would they do that?" The eye brows were flying high again.

"Well, apparently, they don't like what we did with earth and wanted a do over. They and the demons both wanted it. Okay, not all angels, but most." He grudgingly added.

"Together they helped things along and in the end, Lucifer was freed from his cage. Yes, the archangel Lucifer, Satan himself." Dean added when Bobby opened his mouth again. "How and why is a moot point right now, because here it did not happen. This is about Sam. The angel, Anna, travelled back in time to kill our parents to stop the apocalypse from happening. I promise I tell you why later, for now it's only important to know that she tried. So Sam and I had to travel back too, with the help of Castiel, another angel who is at least mostly on our side, to save them. We managed that because Michael...Yes the archangel Michael...appeared right after Anna killed Sam. He healed Sam before he left and sent us back to the future. Only thing is, I am here now and god knows where Sam is." Dean finished slightly out as breath. Now he could only help that Bobby at least tried to believe him instead of throwing him out the door. He had no idea what to do then.

"Wow. I have no idea what to say to that. I mean, you have to understand how crazy this all sounds. You're also keepin' a lot of stuff to yourself, aren't ya?" Before Dean could reply - with what he had no idea - Bobby continued. "I know you do, so don't insult my intelligence with lying to me. But god help, me I believe you. Or at least I believe that YOU believe that what you’re telling me is the truth. I'm still having a hard time with the whole angel and apocalypse stuff tho. But I'm gonna try to help ya."

Dean was rendered speechless from the overwhelming gratitude and relief he felt. On a rational level, he knew that Bobby was not almighty, that he couldn't fix everything; but this didn't stop the hope stirring in his stomach like a seedling in the first spring sun.

Some of this must have shown on his face, because the old man's expression softened a bit.

"Why don't you get us a beer, if you're so familiar with this house, and we start to hit the books?"

And so they did exactly that. They started on books about creatures that could alternate reality ("I'm sure it's no Djinn Bobby, I dealt with one before and this is different.") but the possibilities were greater than Dean would've anticipated. There were Djinns, Fairies, Trickster, Witches, Gods or Semi-Gods to only name a few. But they had no idea why they would want to mess with them especially. Besides, there was a belief growing in Dean that this had something to do with their trip back to 1978 and the whole angels and demons crap they were trapped in. After several hours bent over ancient books his eyes started to blur, his back to hurt, and his patience to run thin. And he could see that the old hunter was no better off than him. For the thousandth time he wished Sam was here.

"I don't think it was one of these things, Bobby. It doesn't make any sense. I think it has something to do with the angels. Why don't you head to bed and I scoop out some more dust catcher?" Bobby had stopped reading the page he was on, but was still not looking at Dean when he replied.

"As I see it, Dean, you could've saved our backs some serious torture if you'd just told me that hours ago. I also have the slight feeling you're still hiding something from me, and I think you owe me at least the truth if you want me to help you. Don't ya think?"

Dean was a bit thrown by the bluntness of his words, but then again, Bobby never was one for sensibilities. And maybe he was right. They had no chance of finding Sam without him putting his cards on the table first. But not tonight, when both their nerves were already put to the test more than once.

"You're right Bobby. There is more to this than I told ya. But it's a long story, and I think it would be better to tell it in the morning over coffee and breakfast."

Dean hoped for some understanding because he was not sure how to say _'Me and my brother started the apocalypse'_ without it sounding as horrible as it did. Especially without the infamous set of puppy dog eyes at his side softening the blow anyone would try to give them.

"So you're inviting yourself to breakfast tomorrow?” Bobby's stern voice pierced through his thoughts and just as he held up his hands to start and explain how that was not what he meant, he saw Bobby's beard twitch slightly. He's been had. "Okay, princess, I have a spare room upstairs you can use. But don't think you get out of telling me the truth tomorrow." A finger was pointed at him during this last remark.

"I won't. And- thanks, Bobby. Really. I know this must've been hard to grasp and I'm glad you're willing to put up with me." _Now or never Dean._ "But there is one last thing. Remember the amulet I told you about? Did you find it?"

Wordlessly Bobby got up, moved around the desk they were sitting on and came to a halt in front of Dean. He put his hand in the front pocket of his jeans. Anticipation rose in Dean when a fist came free and was turned upside down. Then Bobby opened his fist and revealed one of Dean's most valuable possessions in the world. His hand moved like it had a mind of its own, greedy to take what was his all along. But before his fingers could reach it, the hand closed again, shutting the treasure away like the closing lid of a treasure chest.

"Before I give this to you, I need you to tell me what you think this amulet can do. You told me you had it for nearly all your life. Did it ever do something, revealed some sort of power?"

Dean hesitated for a moment. Should he really tell Bobby about the things Cas had told them in the hospital, when he had demanded the amulet from him to go on a wild goose chase for God? It could open a can of worms Dean really didn't want to open, but on the other hand, how could he ask Bobby to trust him and then lie to his face? Hoping he did the right thing, he said "You don't really know what it can do, you told Sam it is a protection charm and I'm not sure you suspected more about it, but it turned out that it is indeed very special." _In more than one sense._ "Castiel, the angel I told you about, he said this amulet would glow in the presence of God."

The older man looked at him like he lost his mind. "God. Like, _the_ God? Capital letters and all that?" And Dean knew how it sounded. Hell, he didn't believe it either back then. So he just shrugged his shoulders in the universal gesture for 'Well, what can I say'. Chances were high Bobby would think he was the butt of a joke or anything like that, and refuse to give Dean what he longed for. But sometimes even Dean Winchester could be pleasantly surprised.

"I guess I don't have to tell ya that your story keeps gettin' crazier and crazier but hell, in a weird kind of way that makes it more believable too, you know? Like, too crazy to be made up. Or maybe I'm just getting old and senile and you're an axe murderer or some shit and tomorrow I wake up dead." Dean figured it wouldn't help his case to mention that Bobby wouldn't wake up if he were dead. Sometimes it was better to keep his smartassery in check. Sam would've been proud of him. Before he could say anything that would've proven himself wrong, Bobby continued. "But then I'd probably deserved it anyway, so here, take it. You're right, I don't have a clue what it can do and if it warms your girly heart to have it, be my guest." And with that a part of Dean's (maybe slightly girly) heart was returned to him.

He stared at the hand that held it in wonder for a moment before he returned it to its rightfully place again. He couldn't help but smile when the familiar weight settled on his chest. "Thanks, Bobby." He was surprised how soft his voice sounded at that, so he cleared his throat and said a rather gruff "Goodnight, old man" to cover it up. Judging by the twitching beard and the mockingly raised eye brow, he did not succeed.

"Goodnight, son. See ya tomorrow for some story telling."

And with that Dean made his way to the staircase, steps following a trail that seemed to be ingrained in his bones. He walked it so often with Sam only one step behind, his footsteps oddly in sync with Deans, making the soft _thud thud_ of their feet sounding like some kind of echo. So it was no wonder that he turned around halfway up, when all he heard were his own steps, to say "You comin' Sammy?"

But of course no one was there. Dean felt like he somehow missed a step on the stairs, his foot losing ground, caught between standing and falling, leaving an unpleasant swooping sensation in his stomach. The step should have been there to hold him up, but it wasn't, so all he could do was stumble, or worse, fall.

It took him a bit to get himself together, at least enough to climb the rest of the stairs, and make his way to the room he always shared with Sam, even when they were old enough to sleep in different rooms. There was only an old pull-out sofa, but it would have to do. While he stripped off the many layers he wore like armour, he thought about the incident at the staircase. It was not the first one. During the days after waking up in the strange and empty motel room, he caught himself looking over his shoulder or turning around more than once, expecting to see his brother; and he couldn't explain to himself how it could be that he forgot for even a second that Sam was not there, when his absence felt like a missing limb all the time. But somehow it happened, and he couldn't decide what felt worse, the ache that spread through his whole body, threatening to swallow him whole, or the blissful seconds when he made a joke and waited for a laugh, a snort, a pretended annoyed sigh. Anything. But all he got was silence, and the knowledge that Sam was no longer there crashed down on him again, and the ashes settled on his soul, making it heavy and weary to the bone. Sam’s absence felt like something physical, like dust on his soul.

But at least he had his amulet back, and now that it was around his neck again, he realized how much he actually missed it since Cas took it. Lying in bed he wrapped his hand around it, speaking softly to himself. “I’m going to find you Sammy, I’m going to bring you back. I know I always say it’s my job to take care of you, to keep you safe, and it is. My responsibility. But more than that, man. So much more. I’m selfish. I do it so that I can keep you. Not only because I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want just anyone, I want _you_. _I need you_. So, please…wherever you are, hold on, I’m coming. I’m going to take you home.” And with that he fell asleep, emotionally drained and exhausted from the long drive.

_He opened his eyes, and was greeted with the sight of an empty field, the clear night sky above him, stars illuminating the inky blackness. He was lying on the hood of the Impala, black metal still warm from the sun. The air smelled sweet when a warm breeze swept through his hair, and breathing suddenly felt easy, like a weight was lifted from his chest. He heard a soft clicking sound and looked down at the cooled beer bottle he was holding, his hand moist from the condensation. He looked back up and the breath caught in his throat. Slightly slanted hazel eyes were smiling at him._

_“Sam.”_

_He breathed out, his voice barely audible, thinned by wonder, afraid that Sam would vanish if he’d spoke too loud._

_“Everything okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost.” At that Sam chuckled low in his throat, but sobered quickly when Dean didn’t join him. His smile was replaced with a worried frown in seconds, his gaze earnest. Normally Dean would say something funny (‘That was not funny Dean, it was insensitive and offensive. You have the humour of a five year old.’) to make the valleys beneath Sam’s mouth appear again, but tonight was not normal. Not even for them._

_“I’m dreaming, am I? I have to be, because I’m at Bobby’s and you’re…you are gone Sam. Where are you man?”_

_His voice broke at the last question and he would be embarrassed, but right now he couldn’t really care. Everyone would be a bit unhinged in his situation, so he was gonna cut himself some slack. Besides, it was a dream, so no one was here to take away his man card anyway. He expected Sam to make fun of him or ask him if he’d smoked some pot again. Maybe he was lucky and it was the kind of dream where Sam would be naked suddenly and they would make out on the hood of the Impala under the stars. Wouldn’t be the first time he dreamt something like that and he had enough memories to supply his subconsciousness at least. So he was more than a bit surprised when Sam started talking (still clothed, mind you)._

_“It is a dream, kind of. But it’s also more than that. It’s like we’re on another plane of existence. I can’t really explain it right now. But we are both here; it’s not your dream, but ours.”_

_“You mean, like with the African dream root? Dream sharing? But I haven’t had any.” He was confused, caught between wanting to believe so badly that Sam was really here, and being convinced that his mind was just really good at copying Sam._

_“Yes, a bit like that, although I’m not sure you would really die if something happened to you here. It’s more like astral projection, but your mind came up with the setting. It’s a memory I think. Although I’m not sure which, it’s not like we only did this once.” This was said with a nostalgic smile and Dean was filled with the same bittersweet feeling that was clear on Sam’s face._

_“Okay, but how? Why? I mean, say it is like you say” (he got a raised eyebrow at this) “then why are you here but not with me at Bobby’s?” He couldn’t help but sound a bit reproachful. Maybe Sam decided to stay away on his own after all._

_“Oh so you’re at Bobby’s? That’s good, if someone can figure this out, it’s him. And I don’t know how or why, I just woke up here, just like you. But it seems you have memories from before that. My last one is Anna, stabbing me. The next thing I know is me being here, you lying next to me, asleep. At first I thought I’m dead, that maybe I’m in heaven but then, why would Lucifer’s vessel get a free pass to heaven, right? So, my best guess is some kind of astral projection.”_

_All that was said fast and matter of fact, leaving Dean reeling. How could Sam still believe he didn’t belong in heaven? Sure, he made mistakes, they both had. But if one of them was going to heaven, it was Sam. But he also knew that this was a lost battle, that his brother was still beating himself up and right now they had more urgent things to discuss._

_“Yeah, I’m at Bobby’s. I woke up 4, now 5 days ago, alone in a motel room in nowhere, Ohio. Apparently I had just killed a Rugaru. A case Caleb set me on. I know, I know, he’s dead. But it gets better, 3 days later I talked to Dad. On the phone. And I have these memories, like two movies playing at the same time in my head. And you’re just not there, but not like you vanished but more like you never existed in the first place. How can that be, Sammy?”_

_He got more and more agitated during his retelling. He had no idea how long he could stay here, and there was still so much to say, so much to do. He never wanted to wake up._

_“Shit. That’s not good. I mean, it’s great that Caleb and Dad are still alive, but we both know, if things seem too good to be true then something’s wrong.”_

_“Too good to be true? Did you listen to me? You. are. not. there. How is that good?”_

_At that the look on Sam’s face became soft, the frown lessening, the lines in his face smoothing out and warmth flooding his eyes._

_“You’re right, I’m sorry. Maybe it has something to do with our trip back in time? What…”_

_A loud clattering interrupted whatever Sam wanted to say, Dean’s head automatically whipping around, hand going to the gun at his waist. But nothing had changed; the scenery was as peaceful as ever. When he turned back around to hear the rest of the question, Sam was gone._

He woke up with a start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a lot more than he asked for. But at least there's also breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to each and everyone of you who commented, gave Kudos or just read this. It means the world to me. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but it seems I at least developed a weekly posting rhythm (thanks to my super fast and amazing beta thefreakfox), so lets hope I keep that up.

It took him some time to get his breathing back under control and his heart to slow down, but when he did, he realized that he could still hear the loud clattering. It was coming from downstairs and was apparently loud enough to have woken him up. He was pretty sure it meant that Bobby was preparing breakfast, which was nice, but also meant he had to tell his story. Something he was not sure he was ready for, especially not after this weird-ass dream.   
' _Astral-Projection_ ' he thought.   
But that was crazy. So it might be even true. Worse than not knowing if it was a dream or not was the bone-deep aching he felt. Sam was there, dream or no dream, and they were so close, they could've touched. _Why hadn't they touched?  
_ Instead they talked. Which was nice, he liked talking to Sam, but he wished they'd made some progress. He still had no idea what happened and where Sam was. So instead of answers he got even more questions. Was it a dream or not? And if not, what then? What did it mean and why did it happen? And most importantly: how could he make it happen again?

Getting up, cleaned and dressed was usually a quick affair - except when he tried to annoy Sam while doing it - but today he stalled as much as he could. But even then he found himself downstairs in less than 15 minutes. If he'd at least had hair as long as Sam's...

When he entered the kitchen he was hit with the delicious smell of bacon, eggs and other heavenly greasy things. He hoped they would talk after they ate, because he suddenly realized that he was starving. He hadn't had much of an appetite since he woke up without Sam and the only food he had had since he left the motel room in Ohio were some candy bars. His grumbling stomach promptly announced his entrance.

"Sit down boy, I bet you haven't eaten anything substantial for days," was the gruff greeting he received.

"How'd you know?"

"I remember your daddy when he was on a mission. His only focus was getting the job done, food or sleep be damned. And boy, he had nothing on the driven look I see in your eyes. I'm surprised you even slept, must've been exhausted." Meanwhile Bobby had placed two plates in front of them plus two frying pans and a huge stack of pancakes. Even Sam would've loved this, never mind there was nothing green in sight.

Instead of answering he just made a non-descript sound and started to pile food on his plate. What was there to say? That he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time the last few days, that he suspected last night was an exception because of the dream he had. Thinking of the strange dream made him pause in the demolition of the food in front of him. It seemed dreaming of Sam had brought back his appetite as well. He shortly contemplated telling Bobby about last night, but then again, what use would it be? Besides, saying ‘ _I dreamed of my brother last night, that’s why I feel more rested than in days and I can finally think about food without wanting to throw up_ ’ sure sounded a bit co-dependent. Even for them. Especially considering that this Bobby hadn’t seen them growing up together, hadn’t seen Dean in Cold Oak when he thought he’d lost his world so he damned it to end for all he cared. No, this Bobby thought Dean was just looking for his brother and – at least for now – he preferred it that way.

Way too soon their plates were cleaned and the time for stalling was over. After refilling their coffee cups, Bobby sat down again, opposite of Dean, and cleared his throat. “So, I think you have some explaining to do, son.”

“You know, when mummy and daddy really love each other, and they want to have a baby…”

“Bloody har har. Cram the jokes. What the hell is going on? Angels, Apocalypse, Lucifer rising, you can’t just spring this on me.” Bobby’s tone made it more than clear that the time for jokes and deflections were over and that he better told something good if he expected to be allowed in this house any longer.

And so he told Bobby everything (well, not everything, because some things he didn’t need to know, like how much he and his brother really meant to each other or that no one could make him come as hard as Sam).

About the fire in the nursery and how it took not only their mum but also parts of their dad and their childhood. How they grew up in the hunting world and how Bobby was the safe haven they needed until he and his dad had had that fall out. He also told how they would hold contact somehow and see each other again when John went missing. Tales about the yellow eyed demon, deals made, brothers lost. 40 years in hell. Raised from perdition by an angel who looked like a tax accountant but was a fierce warrior. He confessed about the seals and how he broke the first one in hell and that Sam was manipulated by angels and demons, so that he broke the last one by killing Lilith. This part was probably the hardest to tell, still so much unspoken between him and Sam, so much guilt and pain and anger weighting him down.

He wouldn’t tell Bobby about the means it took to kill Lilith or the extent of their fall out. Or that a tiny little voice in his head - that sounded suspiciously like future him - thought that this was his punishment for every time he went wrong. Not only for breaking the first seal, but for hurting Sam, for pushing him away when he needed him the most. Blinded by rage and betrayal, he never took the time to listen to Sam, let him explain. Yes, he was right in his mistrust of Ruby, but if he was honest with himself (something he didn’t do that often) part of this mistrust stemmed from jealousy. So Sam made mistakes, but so did he and now he just wished for so many things done differently. Something he also wouldn’t tell a single soul except Sam. No one’s opinion mattered anyway.

He finished with the whole ‘two archangels want to wear us to prom’ mess and their latest travel back in time. When he stopped speaking and finally glanced up in Bobby’s face (something he avoided during his speech) he saw wide eyes and raised eyebrows. _Must cost him a lot of willpower to keep the jaw shut_ Dean thought to himself. And who could blame the older hunter. This sounded like one of these surrealist stories this weird German dude always wrote. Like men who woke up as cockroaches and stuff like that. Only that his story was not meant as a metaphor. He wished it was.

“What you’re telling me is that you and that brother of yours started the apocalypse and now Lucifer and Michael want you two as their vessels to fight a biblical fight that’ll probably destroy most of the world and kill billions of people.” Dean nodded reluctantly. “Balls.”

“I know it sounds bad but we’re working on a way to stop them, Castiel is looking for god, and Sam and I would never say yes to them.” Dean knew he was sugar-coating the situation, but he was afraid of what Bobby’s next words would be.

“And here none of that ever happened? No angels, no apocalypse, no nothing?”

“Seems like it. I mean I haven’t found anything yet anyway, but that doesn’t mean everything is dandy either.” But he couldn’t deny that he had the same thoughts Bobby was voicing now.

“Yeah, well, your Dad’s alive and the last omens I saw were from 1983. I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Of course he was right, it was a good thing but he couldn’t bring himself to be happy about any of this if it if he hadn’t Sam with him to enjoy it. He knew that was selfish but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that either. Besides, it all seemed a little bit too good. Like, why did his mum die in the fire if not for the yellow eyed demon to infect Sam with demon blood and prepare him to be Lucifer’s vessel? Something was not right.

“Maybe. But Bobby, I feel like something’s not right. I feel like we don’t see the whole picture. My mum died because Azazel poisoned Sam with his blood so that he’d develop a ‘special gift’ or some crap like this and lead his demon army. So without my brother here, why did she still die? Killed by a demon, too, mind you.” He willed Bobby to agree with him, to see that this version of reality could very well be a trap, too. That Sam’s ceased existence was not a good thing.

The older hunter looked somewhat doubtful, like he had a suspicion why Dean was so adamantly insisting that something was not right here. But he gave him the benefit of the doubt, because instead of protesting he simply said “You’re right, that is strange. I can’t say what it probably means but something about this is suspicious. But you have to understand, even if there is more going on then we know about, bringing your brother back sounds like it would open a whole other can of worms.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He couldn’t say he was surprised by this, as soon as he noticed some of the bigger changes here (like no freaking archangel with an ego problem running around looking for a Winchester suit) he was afraid this would happen. But he still had no idea how to change Bobby’s mind because there were no rational arguments for his plead and this man in front of him didn’t share the notion of family like Dean’s Bobby and surrogate father did. He would have to find out more about this situation on his own and come back when he had more proof. Or simply find his own way of saving Sam.

Just as he was about to reply his phone was ringing in his jeans pocket. After reading the caller ID, he made an apologetic face at Bobby, before getting up and leaving to room, so that he could answer the phone in private. On his way to the porch he pressed the answer-button and immediately heard his father's gruff voice in his ear.

"I have a hunt in Sacramento that needs to be taken care of. Seems to be a Shapeshifter, four deaths so far. All old, lonely and rich guys as far as I know. How fast you take care of it?"

Hunting was the last thing on his mind right now and in his current state he would've appreciated something like a greeting, a simple _'How are you, son?'_. But he knew you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks and that's just how is father was. So he swallowed any biting comments, hearing Sam's agitated voice in his head ( _'I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it's like you don't even question him!'_ And his own voice, saying _'Yeah, it's called being a good son!'_ ).

But he changed since then, he learned that his father wasn't always right ( _'He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy!'_ ), that Dean had to be his own man at some point.

"I'm in Sioux Falls, Dad. It would take me days to get there. Can't anyone else take it?" He couldn't remember the last time he, or this world's Dean for that matter, had ever contradicted John so bluntly. The answering silence on the other end probably meant that his father couldn't either.

“What are you doing in Sioux Falls?” His father voice was dangerously low, like Dean crossed some serious boundaries here. Which, he really had no idea.

“I’m visiting Bobby, I need his help with a case. Why is that a problem?” He couldn’t help but ask, because the way John sounded, he did something very bad. But in his voice, there was not only anger, but also fear, and that was what Dean picked up immediately. He could understand John being angry, his memories from this universe showed an even nastier fight between him and Bobby then the one in his world.

_“You ever come near me or my son again I’ll fucking kill ya! You hear, old man? I’ll kill ya!” Dean was waiting in the car, playing with his army men, when his father stormed out of the car, yelling at his Uncle Bobby. He spent the weekend at the Salvage Yard, playing catch with Bobby and watching him fix cars with rapt attention. When he was older, he wanted to be a mechanic, just like his Uncle Bobby._

_“I don’t get what you problem is Winchester! I’m telling ya, he moved it. With his mind! That ain’t normal! Something is not right with Dean and we need to fix it.” At this, John turned around so fast that the older hunter ran smack into him. He shoved him roughly away, spitting words in his face too low to properly hear, but Dean caught some words and phrases. “…don’t know what you’re talking about…fine…nothing’s wrong with him…see things…don’t ever come near him again!” The last part was yelled again. Then his father turned back around and marched to the car with brisk strides, nearly unhinging the door with the force of his opening. Dean looked at him with big, fearful eyes, still shaken by what he witnessed. “We never come here again! You hear me, son. Never. Again. I don’t want you to talk with Bobby, I don’t want you to even mention him. Are we clear?”_

_“Y- Yes, Sir.” Came the shaky reply. He wanted to protest, tell his Dad how awesome it always was at Bobby’s, how they played and fixed cars and how he always got a glass of milk with cookies and a goodnight story in the evening. But the way his Dad looked right now scared Dean. He had never been afraid of his father before, but now he didn’t dare to even really look at him. John seemed to notice how overwhelmed his son was, because his next words were a bit softer. “I don’t want to scare you, son, but you have to follow my orders. I’m doing this to keep you safe. You may not understand that now, but one day you will. Come on, let’s find a diner someplace. You can even have a slice of pie, how does that sound?” At the word pie Dean piped up again._

_“Pie sounds awesome! Thanks, Dad.” And with that Dean put this whole experience behind like only children could._

That was, until now.

“What did I told you, Dean? You stay away from Bobby Singer! And I expect you to follow my orders. You leave there, immediately.” His tone disallowed any contradiction.

And the old Dean would’ve followed this order, without any questions asked. But he had enough. Something was clearly not right here and it had something to do with him.

“No. Not before you tell me why the hell I should stay away from Bobby. You were friends once, weren’t you? What could’ve happened that that changed so drastically?”

“Are you out of your mind? I gave you a direct order and I expect you to follow it.” John’s voice grew louder and more impatient with every syllable.

“Now I know why it drove Sammy up the walls…” He muttered to himself.

“What did you say? Speak clearly or not at all. Have you forgotten all your lessons now?”

“No, I haven’t. But I can’t keep going on like this. Something is not right, not at all, and I want to know what or I swear to god…”

“You swear what? That you’ll throw a fit? Aren’t you a bit old for that?” If he didn’t heard it before he would’ve thought his Dad was really mocking him rather cruelly. But beneath the mocking he could clearly hear fear. His father was terrified. The question was, why?

“I swear to god I’ll do something we all gonna regret. You have no idea who I am right now. I have nothing to lose, so answer my question or live with the consequences.” He couldn’t believe what was coming out of his mouth but it felt so good to let some of the burning anger in his guts out. It felt like it was burning him up from the inside, all this frustration. Sam was gone, and Cas didn’t answer him, Bobby thought it was better that way and now his Dad was keeping secrets from him. Secrets about him.

“Dean, calm down, okay. Please, you have to calm down, get your stuff and come meet me. Now.”

“BUT WHY?” Dean yelled, having enough, even more agitated from John’s attempts to placate him. That was when the windows of one of the cars in the yard exploded, making glass fall on the ground like shiny rain.

“Because you are in danger, Dean. _Because you are danger_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very very sorry for the cliffhanger. Please don't hate me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean leaves Sioux Falls to meet with his dad. Things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much to thefreakfox for her badass beta skills. Seriously, without this girl you would have to read a lot of crap. Go to her tumblr and give her some love: http://thefreakfox.tumblr.com/
> 
> Secondly, I managed my weekly updating rhythm, yay me. I'm sick, so I had time to write and a fever that spiked my fantasy ;) This is again rather long and I had to cut in the middle because if I would've put anything in it I wanted this would be 9k or so. But I'm already on chapter 6.
> 
> Last but not least: Thank you all for reading, liking and commenting. You are the best.

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Because you are in danger, Dean. _Because you are danger_.”

What was that supposed to mean anyway?

“It means that if Bobby – or any hunter for that matter – learns about your abilities… I don’t know what’ll happen then, but it will be bad. And it means that if you don’t calm down soon your powers could do something you’ll regret, son. So, I want you to remember your breathing sessions. What did I taught you?”

And Dean was hit with another memory that wasn’t his – not really anyway.

_“I’m so so-oo-rry, Dad. Plea-ea-se don’t be mad at me-ee. I didn’t mean to!” A 6-year old Dean was sobbing on the floor, still in shock about what had happened. He and his Dad had had a fight because Dean wanted to stay for his friends Chris’ birthday party, which was supposed to be on Saturday and everyone from his class would be there. But his father insisted that they needed to leave tonight, he had important business in another town. When Dean refused and started begging his Dad ‘Pleeeease Dad, just three more days. I promise I’m a good boy, I won’t ask for cookies for dinner no more if we stay’. But his father was unrelenting and soon they started to get louder, and when his frustration got the better off him, John grabbed Dean’s tiny arm rather roughly, the glass he was cleaning still in the other one. That was when it happened. Dean let out a shriek when John’s grip was closing on his arm and the glass in his father’s hand exploded with a loud bang. Dean instinctively closed his eyes at the sound, and wouldn’t open them until he heard a loud ‘Fuck goddamnit’ from his father. Startled, he looked up and the first thing he was seeing was bright red. The exploding glass had cut into John’s hand and it was bleeding pretty badly. Dean was still too shaken to really react then but after his father had moved over to the sink to clear the cuts – not that deep but bleeding like a headshot – and the blood was still the only thing Dean could see, he sank to the floor to let out heart-breaking sobs._

_When the last pieces of glass were picked out of his hand, a dishtowel was wrapped around John’s hand before he walked over to his only son. Both were shocked by what had happened, but when faced with Dean’s terror John was able to rein in his own feelings to comfort his child. He kneeled by the sobbing bundle, cupping his face with his uninjured hand (it nearly covered Dean’s whole face, a fact that stirred something tender in his chest). “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. Come on, it's gonna be alright. I know you didn't mean to. I shouldn't have yelled."_

_At his words and soothing voice, Dean calmed down considerably. He looked up at his father with red eyes and tear streaks across his rosy cheeks, asking with a still slightly shaking voice "Does it hurt, Daddy?"._

_"No, it's alright. Just a cut. But, Dean, how did you feel before the glass exploded?"_

_"I felt angry. Very angry. And then scared when you grabbed my arm. And then there was this loud noise and I was even scarder." Huge green eyes blinked up at John and he couldn't be angry with Dean, even if he wanted to be._

_"It's okay, you don't have to be scared, I promise. But we don't want something like this to happen again, won't we?"_

_"No?" It came out more like a question, Dean still unsure what his Dad wanted to say._

_"No. So, whenever you feel really angry - or scared - I want you to take a breath and while you do count to two, then hold your breath very short before you breathe out as long as you need for counting to four. Then count to one before you take the next breath in. You should do this until you feel calmer. What do you think, kiddo, can you manage that for me?"_

_"I don't know..." Dean answered in a small voice, looking very unsure of himself. John squatted down next to him to look him in the eyes._

_"Come on, we'll do it together."_

And so they practiced breathing for the rest of the evening and then every few weeks his father would ask him - out of the blue most days - if he remembered his breathing exercises. And they really did help him. There were some very few instances where he couldn't keep his emotions in check, but he never hurt someone again.

Oh how much did he hate that he couldn’t have all this knowledge and memories at hand, but had to access it willingly or at least wait for it to be triggered by something. This way he had to face some nasty surprises and no time to deal with them in private.

"Breathe in for a count of two, hold the breath in for a count of one, then exhale gently, counting out for four and finish by holding the breath out for a count of one. I remember."

"Okay, good. Do it right now, and when you calmed down, go get your stuff and leave Bobby's. Meet me in St. Cloud, I'm coming from Wisconsin, so we can meet in the middle. We have to talk.”

“But what about the hunt in Sacramento?” His Dad would never let innocent people die, no matter what family drama was happening (not that there ever were that many to begin with).

“I’ll call Caleb on my way, I’m sure he knows someone who can take it. This is more important.” His father’s tone suggested that this was an order he better obeyed. Given that he already planned to leave Bobby’s to look for more clues about Sam, he decided to follow his Dad’s orders for now. He couldn’t remember many times that John ever said something was more important than a hunt and those few instances were all very serious, mostly life-and-death situations.

“Okay, Dad. I see you there.” The only answer he got was the clicking of the call being disconnected, which sparked that anger in his chest again. He started his breathing exercise, letting muscle memory lead him. This body had done it plenty, it seemed.

When he felt like he had his temper under control again, he continued for another 5 minutes before he headed back inside. Bobby had already cleaned the kitchen table (and he was very glad that he’d finished breakfast before the call because he doubted that it would’ve mattered to Bobby if he hadn’t), and was now residing at his big oak desk. When Dean entered the study, he was greeted with a questioning look.

“It was my Dad. There is a hunt in Sacramento he needs my help with. So, yeah, I think I’m gonna head out now, get an early start, y’know?” He was scratching his neck, a nervous gesture he had no control over. Sam told him once it was his biggest tell, at least if you knew how to read Dean. Which he did fluently, of course. The huge nerd was good at everything he wanted to do, and figuring out his big brother seemed to be a hobby of his since he could not even walk.

“What about that brother of yours?”

Jesus Christ. Dean felt like there was no right answer to this. He couldn’t tell Bobby that he didn’t give a damn what it might lead to, he was going to get Sam back. But he was also sure the old man wouldn’t believe him if he said ‘ _you’re right, let’s forget about him, it’s probably better this way_ ’. As if. So he tried for some middle-ground.

“I think you’re right, we don’t know what would happen if we change the current situation and I should probably get some more information first before we plan any next steps. Maybe you can keep on researching as well and we talk again when I’m back from the hunt?” Okay, he didn’t sound like himself in the slightest, but he just hopped that this Bobby didn’t know that.

“Am I now? And of course, I would love to do your research, your highness. It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway.”

“That’s not how I meant it, Bobby, and you know it. I’m forever thankful for your help and I understand if you don’t have the time for it. It’s just that I could really use the help from someone who probably knows more lore than most hunters combined.”

At that the old hunter let a small smile slip before he gruffly said “Flattery won’t help you any, boy. I just don’t get it. You come here, looking haggard and desperate to find your brother and now your father calls with some hunt and you take off, just like that?” Dean really didn’t know what to say to that so he kept his mouth shut. “It’s because of your Dad, isn’t it? He doesn’t want you being here, that stubborn son of a bitch.” That last part wasn’t a question, but the perfect excuse for his hasty retreat, and also true.

“Um, yes, actually – he asked me to leave immediately. You know him, he’s probably still holding a grudge, but I don’t want to make it worse.” Even if this Bobby wasn’t versed in reading Dean, he still made a conscious effort to drag his hand over his neck, making him look more embarrassed than he really felt.

Bobby seemed to buy it. “You’re old man has some serious trust issues. Did he ever tell you about, y’know, our fall out?”

“Not really. He said that we would never come back and that that’s final. He’s not a man of many words. Why did you two fight anyway?” He had a pretty good idea but he was curious what the older man would say. If he was as blunt as the Bobby he knew, he could maybe learn a bit more about what was going on.

“About you, actually.” It was not hard to look surprised at that. “I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay and if not, then I wanted to help you. But your Daddy wouldn’t want to hear a thing about it. Said if I ever came near you again, he’d kill me. So I didn’t.”

Somehow this whole story didn’t sit right with Dean. His Dad hadn’t really told him about the fight, but he had mentioned that no hunter could be trusted with his secret, because they would wanna hunt him. And then he had said ‘ _Even Caleb, or Reverend Jim, or god-forbid, Bob Singer, are not to be trusted. Even if they wouldn’t want to kill you at first sight, there are ways to probe you, take you apart like a science project or use you like a weapon. No one is safe._ ’

Suddenly very cautious, he still couldn’t help but ask “What did you think was wrong with me?”

“I don’t know if something is wrong with you. I was just concerned. You did something. Something… _special_. A knife slipped from my hand and was aiming at my feet when it just stopped mid-air. I grabbed it, and then looked up. You were staring at me with wide eyes. No one else was there, so it had to be you. And I couldn’t explain it, so I asked your father to let me find out. But he just yelled at me, told me I was seeing things, before he stormed out on me.”

Huh. He remembered this vaguely. Bobby had asked him how he did it and he’d just said ‘ _I don’t know, I was not angry._ ’

“Bobby, I really don’t know what’s going on. Where I am from I can’t do any fancy stuff. I’m just a hunter, nothin’ more. I want to find out, too, but I need some time, okay? And I need to do this hunt for Dad. We can talk about it later, old man. What’d ya say?” _Please don’t make this harder than it has to be._

“Well, I can’t keep you here if you want to go. But think about it. Maybe it has something to do with your missing brother. Or maybe not. I will look into reality changing entities and try to narrow it down, for what it’s worth. Anyway, don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

“I won’t. Thank you, Bobby. For everything.” They looked at each other for a moment with something like fondness, even if they didn’t really know each other that well. At least not here.

Clearing his throat (and successfully ending their ‘moment’) Dean went upstairs to pack his belongings, throwing one last glance at the room Sammy and him spent some of their best weeks in. “I don’t know what’s happening with me, Sammy, but don’t you worry. Whatever it is, finding you is still the most important thing. There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, Sammy.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The drive to St.Cloud was as uneventful as a drive through the west north central states could be. A whole lot of nothing to look at, just long and empty highways ahead. Usually he would use such times to sneak some glances at the passenger side, maybe play a prank or two, or just watch his brother sleep. But now he could only listen to some classic rock and wreck his memory (or better, other-Dean’s memory) for any clues what the hell was going on. The only problem was that this fucker had some of them buried deep and they weren’t as easy to access as others. Had to be pretty bad then.

It seemed these powers had manifested really early and were a constant companion through all his life. He had learned to control them better, but they never vanished either. They were so unlike Sam’s visions, which had started when he was over twenty, and stopped when they had killed the yellow eyed demon. Well, at least the visions had. He knew they killed Azazel here as well, but how was one of the inaccessible memories. He shouldn’t be surprised all versions of him had a knack for denial.

But his powers had become more docile after Azazels death, nearly dormant except for extreme situations, like the pent up anger he felt at Bobby’s. If he looked at all the things he learned so far, he couldn’t help himself. He had a suspicion what it all meant. And he never hoped more to be wrong.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He reached St.Cloud in the early afternoon and went looking for the third motel in the phone book. His Dad and him always met at the third one, according to his memory. When he arrived at the cheap looking building, he saw the Impala already parked outside room no 8.

“Oh Baby, I missed you.” Dean couldn’t help himself; he needed to run his fingers over the perfect paint job, admiring her sleek beauty. It was way too long.

“I see you’re still unhealthily obsessed with my car, son.”

At that Dean turned so fast, he felt like he got whiplash. There he stood, John Winchester. His father. Who died for him. Seeing him alive, right in front of him, was like a punch in his guts.

“Dad! It’s so good to see you.” And it truly was. His father looked good. Sure, a bit worn, but that was the life, and his hair and beard had more grey in it as ever before, but it suited him.

“Then what are you still doing over there at the car. Come on in, let’s catch up.” With that his father turned around and walked back into the motel room, leaving the door open for Dean to follow him. He still couldn’t believe it. How bad had he wished to see his dad again, how big had that hole felt that he had left behind in his sons. All the guilt Dean had felt, all the weight on his shoulders, pulling him down. It took him a long time before he could walk upright again and then hell happened and he wondered often ‘ _This was what Dad died for? He would be so ashamed._ ’ And with this riot of emotions it was understandable that it took him some time to pull himself together before he was able to walk into the room.

When he finally did he was greeted with a hit to his head before everything went black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing that pierced his consciousness was the blinding pain in his head. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. On second thought, someone probably had.

Slowly blinking to awareness, he tried to focus. What had happened?

“I see you’re awake.”

He whipped his head around and groaned at the resulting pain. But he knew this voice, even if it made no sense.

“Dad? What happened? You need to be careful; whoever attacked me could still be around.” Why was his father so calm? Did he already got whoever – or whatever – was behind this?

“Oh he is still around. In fact, he is right in front of you, and he only wants to know one thing. _Where is my son, you monster?_ ”

“Where is…but Dad, I am your son. Dean. I don’t understand…” What the hell? Everytime he thought it couldn’t get worse, fate felt the need to prove him wrong. Must have been the dozens of mirrors they smashed all these years ago. 600 years of bad luck. He fucking called it.

“You maybe many things, but you are not my son! Where is Dean? What have you done to him?” His father could be one scary motherfucker, especially when all his rage was focused on you.

“Dad, I swear! I am Dean. Dean Winchester, born January 24th, 1979. My mother is Mary Win..”

“Don’t you dare talk about her, don’t even say her name.”

“Okay, okay. Got it. But judging from the cut on my arm and the holy water and salt in my face you already tested me. So you know, ‘m no demon, no shapeshifter and probably a bunch of other things you tested me for.” At that his father looked grudgingly impressed.

“You’re right about that, but that ain’t mean shit. Maybe you are Dean, but someone bewitched you, brainwashed you. All I know is, the Dean I know wouldn’t act like you did. He would never disobey a direct order like the one to avoid Robert Singer, or refuse to take on a hunt. So tell me, what is your plan?”

“My plan? God, I can’t believe this is happening!” Reining in his rising anger (because reminding John of his powers right now would not be wise) he continued “I’m not bewitched, I was not brainwashed. I am 100% me. Ask me anything. Something only your son would know.” God he hoped his father would believe him. It would suck ass to be killed by the man who once sold his soul to save him.

“No matter what I ask, if Dean is under a spell or something like that he still would know the answer. You need something better to convince me.”

Think, Dean, think. What would Sam Winchester do?

Huh. Sam would probably say ‘ _We should tell him the truth. This is Dad, he can handle it and he’ll know if we lie._ ’ And okay, he never listened to Sam before when he said something like this but desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

“It’s true; I’m not the Dean you know. Not exactly.”

At that his father raised a colt, _the_ colt, and aimed it at his head.

“Listen. I know this is gonna sound crazy. Totally insane. But it is true. I am Dean Winchester. But a different Dean Winchester than the one you know. I’m kinda from a different universe, or reality, or whatever. In my reality, you are dead. Killed by the yellow eyed demon because you wanted to save my life.”

John stared at him incredulous. But the colt no longer aimed at his head, so he called it a win.

“What about Mary?”

His father’s voice wavered a bit at that and the hope in his eyes hurt something deep inside of Dean.

“I’m sorry. She died when I was four years old, November 2nd , 1983. Yellow eyed killed her, just like he did here.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t. That’s the thing, you can’t know for sure. You know I’m most possibly human, but I’m not the son you know, either. But if I was possessed or bewitched, don’t you think I would still act like the Dean you know up until the point where I kill you, or whatever my plan is? Do you really think I would have given myself away this easily?”

That made John pause. He seized Dean up again, contemplating what he had said. Dean knew this could go both ways, but he had to trust his father, just like he always had.

“Okay, I’m not saying I believe you, but if you do say the truth, then what are you doing here? And where is my son?” _Good question, Dad. No idea._

“I don’t really know how or why I ended up here, but I’m still your son. I have all the memories of my life here, even if they’re not always so easy to access, and I have my own ones as well. But believe me; I want to get back to where I am from as bad as you probably want me gone. Thing is, I have no idea how to do that.”

His dad didn’t bother to say that he didn’t want him gone, but for him he was probably still some kind of intruder. It hurt a bit nevertheless.

“Is that why you were at Singer’s? To find a way home?”

“Hey, I’m not E.T. And no, not exactly.” If he already started telling the truth he could pull the plug on this one, too. All or nothing. “I’m looking for someone.”

“This Sam you talked about on the phone?” This was unexpected. He never thought his Dad would remember this. His face must have shown some of his bewilderment, because John smirked and said “I know most hunters at least by name, and all you had closer contact with so far. And I never heard of a Sam before, common name as it is. So I wondered a bit. Thought you’d explain later. So you’re looking for this Sam. Who is he? What’s so important about him?” _Everything._

“He is my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mean cliffhanger again, I know. I would promise to be better but we all know it would be a lie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and John have a heart to heart (I know, right?) and there are more chick-flick moments than a Winchester can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter escalated a bit, but I was sick and had time and some hallucinations. Pretty perfect for writing. I hope y'all like it and that some things start to get clearer. I think all in all this thing will have 10 chapters (maximum!), so we're nearly there kiddos!
> 
> Thank you again to all of you and enjoy <3

"Your brother? You don't have a brother, Dean. I don't know why I'm even talking to you, you're clearly not my son. But believe me, I'm going to find out what happened to him." With new determination he went back to his duffel.

"Dad, please! Listen to me! You're right, here Sam doesn't exist and that's the problem. In my reality, he does. Mum was pregnant with him in 1982; he was born May 2nd 1983. You named him Sam after Mary's Dad, just like I'm named after her Mum. I don't know why you never got him here, but he exists and you butted your heads all the time, but you loved him more than anything." _Sometimes more than me_ a tiny little voice in his head whispered, remains from his own insecurities.

His father had stopped abruptly in his movements, frozen. It took him a long moment before he turned back around to face Dean, his face betraying nothing.

"How did you know about Mary's pregnancy?" His voice was flat, empty. But underneath there was white-hot rage and Dean knew one wrong word could be his downfall. He decided to stick with his wwSWd mantra and told the truth.

"Because in another universe, or reality, or whatever, she gave birth to this baby. He is my brother, your son, Mary's son. And I want him back. So please, tell me, what happened to him?"

John stared at him, probably working through the things he heard, deciding if he should believe Dean or not. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Dean was not sure how much longer he could stand this.

"Mary was pregnant in 1982. It was late September when she told me and I was so happy about it. I saw how much joy you brought to us. But Mary, she was - worried, anxious. She couldn't tell me why, but she barely slept or ate, her body under constant stress because of her uneasy mind. And on November 2nd, she woke me up, there was blood everywhere. I drove her to the hospital, but it was too late. They told us that it happened often to male embryos in this phase of pregnancy, like I would care, like I hadn’t lost a son. And worse, I had lost a part of Mary, too. I never talked about this night ever again. Until now."

He never saw his Dad spiritless, unless he was talking about their mum, but now he looked downright broken.

"I'm so sorry, Dad. But, you believe me now?" Dean couldn't help but ask. He needed his Dad to believe him.

"Honestly, I don't know how it can be possible. But I also don't know how you could know about the son I lost. So, for now, I believe you." Just when Dean opened his mouth to say something, he was interrupted by John's raised hand. "I will try to help you. But first I need you to do something."

"What?" _Anything._

"Tell me about him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And so Dean spent the rest of the evening (after John freed him from his chains) telling their father about his brother. About their childhood spent on American Highways, nurtured by freedom and Mac'n'Cheese. He told him about some Thanksgivings and Christmases they celebrated with John (editing them a bit to spare his father more pain), about how smart Sammy always was, no matter if school or research, always exceeding all expectations. How at first Dean took care of him before they took care of each other (again editing a bit how far this caretaking went). They laughed about Sam's first hunt, how he was bitten and scratched by a possessed wildcat.

He also told John about Sam's infamous stubbornness, which rivalled even John's. He mentioned the fights, the head butting, the shouting matches, all because they were so similar. He couldn't help but mention Stanford, but he told his father that it was good for Sammy. He was too smart for the hunting life, too good. He wanted to be a lawyer and safe people in another way. He didn't mention John's ultimatum to him either.

They talked about John's disappearance, how Dean got Sam at Stanford and how he lost Jess the way they lost their Mum. At this John got up, walked over to his duffel again and came back with a half empty bottle of Jack.

“I think we both can need some liquid nerves, don’t ya think?”

“Cheers to that.” They both raised the shot glasses John brought over together with the whiskey in toast.

After they both cleared two of them, Dean continued his tales of their search for John, talking about Missouri and the case in Lawrence, about the Colt (which saved them here as well, apparently) and Meg. He told his father that Sam had refused to shot him when Yellow Eyed had possessed him, because family always comes first. Dean needed another shot before he was able to tell his father about his greatest sacrifice, made out of love for his boys. At this, John reached over the squeeze Dean’s shoulder in comfort, giving him a soft smile that said _I would do it again in a heartbeat_.

“After we gave you a hunter’s funeral we carried on with the hunt for Yellow Eyed, but it was not easy. Sam missed you a lot.” _We both did._ “No matter how much you loved to tear at each other, we were family and it was not the same without you.”

“But you still had each other. To me it sounds like that was the one thing you two always had. And I’m very proud that I raised you with these values, that you had each other’s backs and cared for each other so deeply. And you did it, didn’t you? You killed Azazel.” It was like balm on his battered soul to hear these words from their father and he fiercely wished for Sam to hear it, too. “I get why you want to find him so badly, it’s your job to take care of him, right? You raised him, more than I did.”

At that Dean wanted to protest, tell his Dad that Sammy was his brother, of course he took care of him, but this never meant he wanted to take John’s place.

“You don’t need to say anything, it’s okay. I only had to take care of you here and it has been hard, I’m not gonna lie. I left you alone more than I should probably, but I had to, to keep you safe and still do the job. So I’m not surprised you’re as close as you are.” _If you only knew._ “What I’m tryin’ to say, I want to help you find him, get back to where you’re from maybe. Or stay here. I wouldn’t mind meeting my other son finally. But, Dean, you have to promise me that you won’t use your powers.”

This was like a cold bucket of ice down his spine after the warmth of his father’s previous words.

“What is it with these powers? Did Azazel feed me demon blood?” _Oh god, please no._

“You saying he didn’t in your reality? But – but why did Mary die then?”

“Sam. He fed it to Sam, Mum died in his nursery when he was exactly six months old. He had visions. He couldn’t move things with his mind, but he had some anger issues as well. Yellow Eyed demon wanted Sam to be the leader of his demon army or some crap like that.” Dean hadn’t realized how worked up he was getting until he felt blood dripping from where his fingernails had dug in too deep into his palms.

His father was slowly shaking his head, voice as gentle as if he was trying to calm a skittish animal.

“He fed his blood to you when you were four years and six months old. I never figured out if there was something special about this date. I mean, it took me way too long to figure out that he fed you his blood and that your powers were because of that. He wanted to make you his leader, too, but we killed him before he could try.”

The thoughts in Dean’s head were swirling together like autumn leaves in a storm. He felt there was more to this story, but he just couldn’t focus. He was tired, emotionally drained and just wanted to sleep. His hand closed around his amulet unconsciously. He wanted to dream.

As if he could read his thought John said “I’m beat. I think we both should get some shut eye before we make any big plans.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, do you mind if I get my own room? It’s just that that’s all a lot to take in and I need some time for myself.” At his father’s sceptical face he added “I won’t run away or something like that. I can use all the help I can get, believe me. I just need some space to think.” _And I’m not sure I’ll see him with someone else in the room._

“Okay, if you think so. But I want you to give me your car keys. I said I think I believe you, but I’m still not sure what all this means, and if there is one thing I learnt as a hunter, it’s to better be safe than sorry.”

Dean knew he should have felt peeved by the lack of trust but then again, why should John trust him? Besides, he was way too beat to feel anything but bone deep tiredness. He wordlessly handed over his car keys, grabbed his stuff and went to the reception to get his own room for the night. He must have been half asleep already when he booked the room, because he found himself again faced with two beds when he knew one would stay empty.

Placing his duffel at the feet of his bed (the one nearest to the door of course, even if no one was here to protect), he stripped down to boxer briefs and t-shirt and slipped under the cold covers. His hand had found its place around the amulet once again, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

_When he opened them again he couldn’t help but be disappointed. He hadn’t left the dark motel room it seemed, and even if he had told himself to expect the worst, he had still hoped for the best. Sammy._

_“Dean.” It couldn’t be. Unless…_

_He was glad he was already lying down, because the relief that flooded his body would have knocked him off his feet otherwise. There, on the other bed, was Sam, propped up on one elbow, looking straight at him._

_“Sam. Oh god, please tell me this is not a dream. Tell me you really are in my motel room.”_

_The prolonging silence from the other bed told Dean everything he needed to know but Sam answered anyway._

_“I’m so sorry, Dean. I wish I could, I really do. I miss you so much. But this is not your motel room, it’s 'a' motel room. Don’t you recognize it?”_

_That made Dean take a real look around. The room was too dark to see many details, but the moonlight was enough to at least make out some shades and the general outline of it. It was a room just like any other motel room across the states, non-descript and anonymous. His gaze was drawn back to the only interesting thing in this bleak space. Sam was looking back with an unreadable expression, waiting for an answer. Dean slowly shook his head._

_Sam seemed a bit uncomfortable now, like he had hoped he wouldn't have to say it out loud. "This is the room we spent the night at before..." He heard Sam swallow. "Before I left for Stanford."_

_That explained a lot. He hadn't had paid any mind to the room they were in back then, just the boy he was with. It was the worst and the best night of his life, all in one. This was the night when he finally got to have Sam, the love of his fucking life, just to lose him again the next day. He had wanted to scream, to beg on his knees 'Please don't leave me', but he knew there was no point. Sam had made his decision and the least Dean could do was to not make it any harder. Tomorrow Sam would tell their father and things would get ugly and leave enough scars for them to last a lifetime. As selfish as it might be, that night he had wanted to pretend everything was alright._

_He had decided to cherish every part of this wonderful boy - man - and commit it to his memory, because soon memories would be all he got. And so he took his sweet sweet time, kissing every inch he could reach, petting and stroking Sam's skin until goosebumps covered him from head to toe. They hadn't slept a second that night, too busy exploring each other. And when the sun had start to rise in the east, Sam and Dean had become one for the first time, Dean slowly, tenderly melting them, desperate to erase all lines between them. It was then that Dean realised there would never be anyone else, no one who would ever mean as much to him as Sam. Usually this thought would have terrified him, but he accepted a long time ago that there was no way fighting it. He had been Sam's the moment their mother placed his little brother in his arms for the first time, groggy hazel eyes blinking up at him and tiny little fingers wrapping around his index finger._

_But instead of saying all that he simply stated "I remember that night, just not the room."_

_At that Sam give him one of his dimpled smiles. "I guess that's another shared memory. Only you have more wrinkles now."_

_"Hey, who you're calling old? If I remember correctly, you weren't looking like a gigantic, build Sasquatch back then either."_

_"Shut up. You loved it." Yeah, he really did._

_"So, you think this dream sharing is a regular thing?" He answered instead._

_"I already told you, it's not exactly dream sharing, because I am not dreaming. I just don't exist outside of your dreams anymore." His brother's tone was frustrated, and who could blame him? Dean would go crazy, knowing Sam was out there, alone, facing whatever the universe was throwing at them._

_"I'm sorry." I'm sorry I couldn't prevent this, I'm sorry I haven't found you yet, I'm sorry I failed you.”_

_"Not your fault. I just feel like I would let you down. Again. Like the night I left. All I seem to do is failing you."_

_At that Dean got up, no longer able to bear the distance between them. He motioned for Sam to skid over a bit and quickly slid under the covers. Putting his arms around his - not so - little brother, he shifted them until he was on his back and Sam's head was cushioned over his heart. It was the same position they had found themselves in after their night had ended, the fairy tale over before it really had begun._

_"You haven't let me down, okay, little brother? You haven't. We don't know what happened and why you're not with me, but it is not your choice. And Stanford...I'm not gonna lie, I felt betrayed when you left, because for me, you left a lot more than the hunting life or dad. You left me, us. But when I needed you, when I asked you to come with me, you did. So, you haven't failed me."_

_They were both silent after his speech, Sam's hand drawing patterns on his chest and stomach while he was combing his fingers through his brother's soft hair._

_"It's the amulet, I think." Dean was startled as Sam's voice broke the silence between them._

_"Huh?" Eloquence was apparently his strong side at the moment. Luckily Sam was fluent in Dean-speak._

_"I mean, I think the amulet is what created the connection between us, the thing that makes it possible for us to be together in your dreams. I think it's the only thing keeping me here. I mean, it only started when you visited Bobby's and got it from him, right? So maybe we can use it to solve this, whatever it is."_

_He hadn't thought about this before, but now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world._

_"See, Sammy, that's why I keep you around! I knew you are the smart one." And with that he gave him a smacking kiss square on the mouth._

_They both froze. Even if it was meant more playfully than anything else, this was the first time before hell that they shared this amount of intimacy with each other. At first Dean couldn't bear bodily affection, someone touching him, because for his body that still meant impending torture. And later that evil skank Ruby had driven a wedge between them. After that they were just too broken, Dean still licking his wounds, unable to forgive the betrayal he felt. But now that Sam was gone, he realized that all that had never changed his feelings for him. He didn't miss him like a vital organ, because this ache was deeper, like his very essence and core was torn apart. Sam was all he ever knew he wanted; the one constant in his life and nothing, no angels, no demons or god himself could change that. So he did the only sensible thing._

_He kissed Sam with intent._

_At first he got no response but he knew his little brother - however smart he was - was sometimes a bit slow on the uptake with things like that. So he just encouraged him with the tip of his tongue, teasing at Sam’s bottom lip and the corners of his mouth. And sure enough, after some hesitant strokes the mouth underneath his opened slightly, engaging in their play._

_It felt liberating to do this again. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this. Okay, that was not true; he had missed it every day but managed to ban these thoughts to the back of his minds. It helped that there were always more important things at hand, like the end of the world. Well, he was going to enjoy it now._

_Sam seemed to be totally on board with this, if the way he was biting at Dean’s plush bottom lip was any indication. His little brother always liked to play a bit rough. But just when Dean thought things were about to get really interesting, Sam had the audacity to pull back and use his delicious mouth for so inane things like talking._

_“Dean, as much as I wished for this ever since I saw you standing in my motel room after you came back from hell, we have to talk. We need to figure this out, so that when I’m back I can pin you down, tie your hands to the bed posts and show you just how much I missed this.”_

_Sam’s husky voice saying things like this had him shuddering all over. He wanted this so bad. But he needed to get his shit together to make it happen. Really happen, outside of deceptive dreams._

_“I’m with Dad. I told him about you.” His brain-mouth filter was apparently still in Sam’s pants instead of helping him at this conversation._

_“You did what? How did he react? Did he believe you?”_

_Before Sam could draw another breath that would come out as more questions, Dean quickly said “Whoa, easy tiger, slow down. He called me at Bobby’s, wanted to meet up and talk, then he knocked me out and made me talk.”_

_"He did WHAT? Are you okay?" Instead of calming Sam down, his words had the opposite effect._

_"'M fine. It's Dad, of course he knew something was up. Thought I was a shifter or something like that. I'm not sure he believes me all the way yet, but at least we got to talk a bit. We already figured that here, you were never even born, and that's true. But Dad told me that Mum was pregnant with you. But then she got really anxious, Dad said. Her body and mind under constant stress, so one night, she lost you. But I don't get why?" The last part came out as a question, because in Dean's world Sam always had the answers for the mysteries they had to solve._

_"I might have an idea." At least some things didn't change. "But first I need you to be honest with me Dean, okay? I know you still have issues with me - and it's okay, I get it. What I'm saying is, we need to be partners in this. I know there is more to this then you're telling me, right?"_

_Well, here was the downside of having an overly smart and observing little brother. All his instincts told him to lie, protect Sammy, he could handle this alone somehow. But Sam was right, all it ever did for them was putting distance between them, mistrust and suspicions. He wanted to be equal partners with Sam, in more than one way, but it was so hard to work against his default big brother settings. But for Sam he could try._

_"You're right, there's more. It seems like without you in the picture Yellow Eyed still came for our family, but the only target he could get was me. So, instead of you, he fed me his blood. I have powers, Sammy."_

_At that Sam lifted his head from where it was pillowed over his heart and looked down on him, his expression so very sad it broke Dean's heart._

_"I am so so sorry. That should have never been your cross to bear."_

_There was not much to say, neither of them deserved any of the things that were happening to them since they were kids, so he just cupped Sam's face in his hand, his thumb stroking over his prominent cheekbones. They kept looking at each other, silently communicating all the things they had no words for. It took losing Sam for him to realize that he needed to put their arguments aside, to realize they both had made mistakes but that they were stronger and better together then apart. It was like Zacharias’ lecture, only more intense, because instead of observing it, he now had to live and change it. And he was hell bent on doing exactly that._

_Still not all that comfortable with prolonged moments of intimacy and emotional tension, he finally broke the silence. "You said you might have an idea why we lost you in this universe here?"_

_Sam smiled at him knowingly, probably aware of Dean's discomfort. He bent down to press one last lingering kiss on his lips before lying back down on his designated place on Dean's chest._

_"Yes I do. Remember what we talked about before you woke up the last time? I think it has something to do with our trip in time. We told Mum to leave Dad, so that we're never been born, right? But of course it was too late; she was already pregnant with you. I mean, I have no idea how we survived, but if Lucifer's words to me are anything to go by, I have to guess that Michael saved you and Mum before Anna could do more damage. Am I right?" Dean could only nod. Damn genius. “So, the question is: how much did they remember from our talk? I doubt Michael left them their memory, right?” Again, a nod was all the answer Dean gave. It seemed Sam didn’t need his input anyway to put things together._

_“Hence, my best guess is, Michael erased their memory, but for Mum deep down something remained, an uneasy feeling. Like a feeling of impending doom you can’t place, you just wake up and know, something’s not right, something bad is about to happen, but you just don’t know what or why you feel this way. And when she became pregnant, some of this swapped to the surface; scaring her so bad her body rejected the foetus at the end.”_

_It all made sense. It was a testament for the infamous Winchester curse it seemed, that their attempt to erase all the bad stuff that happened by erasing themselves backfired epically. Their mother still had to die, he was alone and broken and infected with demon blood and he felt like more bad things were very likely to happen. He somehow doubted the plans for the apocalypse were cancelled. More like postponed a bit. And he was deeply afraid how his role would change with these new developments._

_“I’m afraid you might be right. But, Sam, what can we do? Travel back in time again? I tried to reach Cas, but he never answered me. And I doubt any other angel would willingly help.”_

_“Well, Cas doesn’t know you here, Dean. He never had to rescue you from hell, because you never sold your soul for me.”_

_Huh. He hadn’t thought of that. So Cas was still Castiel, an Angel of the lord, probably too busy to answer a lowly human he didn’t even knew. A human with demon blood in his veins. For the first time he had an idea how Sam must have felt all the time. Unclean, unworthy, an abomination._

_“Listen, Sam, I don’t know how much time we have before I wake up, but I’ll find a way to reach Cas and to get you back. But I need to say something and I want you to listen very closely. I understand now how you must have felt with this burden. At least a bit. And I want you to know; to me you were always everything that’s good in this world, okay? I don’t care what’s in your blood because I know what’s in your soul. Plus, a very wise man once said ‘It doesn't matter what you are. It only matters what you do.’”_

_During his speech he felt Sam’s hand grabbing his, squeezing hard. And after he had finished, Sam popped himself up on his elbows again, staring at Dean with wonder and gratitude._

_“Dean…”_

That was when he nearly fell out of his bed, startled awake by the pounding on his door and his father voice, demanding to be let in. Just another Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least no cliff-hanger. I'm getting better!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet an old acquaintance, John gets a wish fulfilled and Dean is dying of embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally decided that this story should be 10 Chapters. I know what else I want to tell and I think it fits in three more chapters. So, the end is near! I'm also sorry it took me a bit longer to update, real life and all that. 
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful beta, who has my heartfelt sympathy for my bad grammar and confusing descriptions. Thanks for saving my fic and teaching me how to English ;)
> 
> And thanks to all of you, I hope you still enjoy the ride.

“Dean, open the goddam door already!”

What was is with people interrupting his dreamtime with Sam? Couldn’t they all just leave him the fuck alone? He finally got around telling Sam all these things he kept bottled up for way too long and even if he was glad he had the time (and nerves) to actually say it all, he had wanted to hear Sam’s reply.

“I’m coming, for fucks sake, I’m coming!” He never would have answered his father like that before…well, before what happened to him these last four years. But apparently a stay downstairs and a friggin apocalypse can change your attitude a lot. He stalked over to the shut door, turned the key and wrenched the door open in one swift move, coming face to face with his father. Who looked so not amused.

“Since when do you lock your door?” he asks incredulously.

“Since ever? There is also salt in front of the doors and windows. It’s called protection.” Dean deadpanned. Being woken from his dream did nothing for his shitty mood in the morning before he had his coffee.

“Don’t get smart on me boy. My son would never act like that.” The look on John’s face after the words left his mouth told Dean that this came out sharper than his father had planned but then again, John Winchester never reacted well to be talked back at. Sam could testify for that if he were here, a thought that brought Dean back on track. His shitty mood couldn’t get in the way of getting his brother back.

“No, he probably wouldn’t. But the son you know never went through the things I did.” _Time to be the better man._ “But I’m sorry, you woke me from a good dream and I hadn’t had any coffee and I’m generally a bit tense. I try to not let it happen again.” _Very good, don’t make any promises you can’t keep._ And how pathetic was it that his inner voice sounded a whole lot like Sam. Maybe all these people who called them co-dependent on each other were onto something.

If his father was surprised by his snarky reply, he was downright baffled by his apology. His other self must be as averse to talking about his emotions as Dean himself. Still, he did not look angry anymore, so his words served their purpose. Dean stepped to the side to let John into the room, then turned around to put his jeans back on. When he faced his father again, John was sitting on the unoccupied bed with a questioning look on his face. As if Dean knew any better why he did what he did. “I was tired.” was the only explanation he could give.

Probably sensing that Dean’s mood hadn’t improved since he opened the door, John declined from saying more on the topic, choosing instead to offer “How about we talk about what to do next at the Diner down the street. I could use some coffee before I have to face the discussion of a lost son and how to get him back.” Something about the way John accepted this all was weird to Dean. Yesterday around this time, his father still thought something had possessed his only son because he was acting strange, and now he casually mentioned getting a lost son back he didn’t even knew existed until a few hours ago.

“You’re taking to this whole thing quite well.” he stated.

“Maybe. I saw some crazy things out there; you know how the life is. But if you really wanted to kill me, you could have done countless times yesterday or during the night. And I tell you something; maybe I just want you to be telling the truth. I can clearly see now how you’re so different from the son I know. Even with the sadness in your eyes you are happier than I ever can remember you being since your mum – Since you were a little boy. More than that, you are confident, hell you even talk back to me. Although I wouldn’t make that a habit if I were you, son.” The smirk was not apparent on his father’s face but in his voice. And maybe he was right. All the memories he got so far from “other” Dean (he had taken to call him that in his head) were sober or downright depressing, anger and loneliness constant companions where he had dimples, pranks and bitchfaces.

“Okay, then let’s go get some coffee.” With that he grabbed his jacket and heads for the door.

„Didn’t you forget something?“ he hears, followed be the sound of metal clanging against each other. He turned around just in time to catch his flying car keys. Huh. He totally had.

“I thought we take your ride. I’m sure Baby missed me already.” After John unlocked the Impala, Dean climbed (rather reluctantly) in the passenger seat, a bit grumpy John had refused him driving.

“You know, I’m very good at driving her and taking care of her. I rebuild her from nearly scratch once, too. Hell, you gave her to me when I was 22.”

“I did? Don’t get me wrong, I know about your unhealthy love for this car, but why would I give you the Impala?” He hadn’t told his father everything about the last fight he had with Sam before his brother went to Stanford, keeping John’s parting line ‘ _If you walk out that door_ _, don't you ever come back!’_ to himself. Back then he thought John had just wanted to cheer him up with his gift, but now he suspected there was also some guilt involved for having driven his son away. Of course he couldn’t say that, so he gave the next best answer.

“After Sam left for Stanford I started hunting alone and you didn’t like the idea of me having no back up so you said I should at least have a ride that wouldn’t give out on me in the middle of nowhere. I think you also wanted to cheer me up, which totally worked by the way.”

After that they were silent for the five minutes it took them to reach the Diner, looking like all the other greasy spoons they ate in over the years. They took a seat in the back, a bit secluded from the other (very few) patrons. They both ordered coffee, black, no sugar, and no breakfast.

When they were seated at their table again, sipping at the still-too-hot coffee, Dean felt a bit more human. He couldn’t believe it was barely a week since he woke up in bizzaro world. He felt like he aged years already.

“So, you haven’t told me one very important thing, Dean. How did it happen you end up here and your brother lost? Demons, a spell, something I haven’t seen yet?”

“A bit of all of the above. But the real reason, the thing that got us in this mess in the first place, is angels.”

At this John’s eyebrow nearly disappeared in his hairline, every part of his body language spelling disbelief. “Angels? Did they drop a harp on your head, boy? There’s no such thing.”

“I really wish you were right about this, but there is. They are feathery dicks, who want an apocalypse to get rid of us ‘mud-monkeys’. But sadly they are also the only ones who can help me get Sam back.” His hatred for all things angel grew every day and was now at the same level as his hate for demons. Hell, on some days it was even higher.

“They want an apocalypse? Is that why they did something to Sam, to keep you two from preventing the end of the world?” _Okay, here comes the hard part._

“Not _exactly_. There was this angel, Anna, she wanted to kill you and Mum before Sam could be born. She was one of the few angels who also wanted to prevent the apocalypse by killing Sam. What I tell you now may sound bad, but please, keep in mind that Sam is a good man – the best – and he would never do what they want him to do, okay? See, the thing is, other than demons angels need you to consent before they can use you as a vessel. And Sam and I are kind of chosen to be the vessels of the archangels Lucifer and Michael, to fight against each other until one of us – well, them – dies and the other can claim Heaven, Hell and Earth. You can imagine how the earth would look after such a fight. So, Anna wanted to kill you – and with that Sam – to prevent this from happening, not even trying to find another way. That’s why Sam and I followed her back in time to stop her.”

“You travelled through time? How?” His dad looked flabbergasted at the story Dean was telling, and he couldn’t blame him. It was a crazy ride.

“There is this other angel, Castiel, and he’s not so bad. And he is on our side. He zapped us back to 1978 and we took you and Mum and ran. We squatted in an old house from Mary’s family, a hunter’s cabin. There Mum found out that we were her sons and Sam and I told her she had to leave you – I’m sorry but that was the only way we thought we could save her, save you both – before we were born, so that none of the shitty things that happened later would ever come to pass. But it was too late, she was already pregnant, and then Anna came and all hell broke loose. Anna stabbed Sam, he died on the floor and I –“ here Dean needed some breaths to calm down again “ _I couldn’t save him_. Then Michael came to talk to me, telling me it was my destiny to be his vessel, to kill Sam in a biblical fight. After that he promised to send Sam back to our time, safe and sound, and to wipe your memories. Then he zapped me back as well, but I did not wake up in my motel room next to my brother, but in the middle of nowhere, Ohio, and Sam was just _gone_.”

His father was rubbing both of his hands over his face, eyes more tired than they had any right to be in the late morning after a strong cup of black coffee. This was the first time Dean realized that his father looked _old_. Worn down from the years on the road, hunting all the things that went bump in the night, mourning the love of his life and all the while trying to keep his kids (kid, a voice in his mind whispered) safe.

When his father spoke up it was in a wary voice, like he knew how much hardship was coming their way. “If I understand you right, then in your universe or reality or whatever, there is an actual apocalypse coming and you and your brother are chosen to play the star roles? And that’s why an angel tried to kill Sam, so that this wouldn’t happen, right?”

_Oh please, not you too._

“Basically. But Dad, killing Sam is not the answer! I refuse to accept this solution, because it isn’t one. Without Sam Lucifer would just chose another vessel that could contain him long enough to destroy most of the earth anyway, because he hates humans. The only way to stop the world from ending is defeating Lucifer and for this we need Sam. _I need Sam_. So don’t tell me maybe this is for the best. It is not.”

“I wasn’t going to. Don’t look so disbelieving. I guess Bobby said this when you went to him for help? Well, he hasn’t seen you growing up like I do. You may be different from the Dean I know, but I bet you have one thing in common; you want to save everyone, you feel like you have to save everyone because of the one person you couldn’t. So you wouldn’t just recklessly go and damn the world. You really believe what you’re saying and I’m inclined to believe it too. So, what do you reckon is the best way to convince your angel pal to help us?”

Dean was honest-to-god speechless.

“O-Okay. I guess. If this is your stand on this, I’m glad. Speechless. Shocked. Totally thrown. But glad.” He waited a beat then asked in a scandalized voice “Who are you and what have you done to my father?” It was supposed to come out as a joke but there sounded a bit more honest confusion in it that Dean would have liked.

“You are my son, and I want to help you. God knows after everything you deserve it. Is this so hard to believe?” If he didn’t knew better Dean would say his father looked kind of guilty, but that was a ridiculous thought. So far his father had done nothing but help (except knocking him out, but he couldn’t really blame him for that). And yes, he left the other Dean on his own a lot and maybe that was what he meant with ‘after everything’.

“My ‘angel pal’ refused to answer any prayer I sent his way, probably because he doesn’t know me here. Here, I am just a random human and he is an angel of the lord abiding the company rules. We would need to summon him. But he is very powerful, the last time Bobby and I tried in my universe, we were not prepared for him at all. I also doubt our ritual summoned him; he just wanted to make contact. So, we need a spell for summoning and binding an actual angel. Plus, we should do it near his vessel because his true form would burn out our eyes. And that’s the best case scenario.” Dean shuddered slightly as he thought of Pamela’s burnt out eye sockets.

“Well, I’m not sure I can help you with that, to be honest. I mean thirty minutes ago I thought angels didn’t exist outside of crazy tales. But I know someone who might can. She’s a psychic and a damn good one, too. I went to her after your mother -. After the fire. She told me a lot about the supernatural and helped me with you. If someone can – and wants – to help us, it’s her.”

“Are you talking about Missouri?” Dean smiled as he remembered the resolute woman who smacked him more often than even Ellen did, but still managed to give Sam and Dean a feeling of warmth and kindness.

“You know her? Because here you haven’t seen her since you were four.”

“Yes. Sam and I worked a case in Lawrence while looking for you, in our old house actually. It was haunted by a poltergeist and threatening the young family who had moved in. Missouri helped us getting rid of it even if our plan didn’t quite work out. Mum saved us.” Dean would never forget this day or the look on Sam’s face when he saw their mum for the first time (that he could remember). He was glad Sam had convinced him to check out his vision.

“Your Mum? Mary was there? How -? Why -? What happened?” It hurt to see how worked up his father still got when it was about the woman he loved and lost way too early. So Dean told him all about the case and their mum’s spirit. When he finished his tale he wondered about one important thing.

“You think without us the poltergeist did hurt the family we saved back then?” It was like the dream world the Djinn had created all over again. All the people they wouldn’t have helped if their lives wouldn’t have went the way they did.

“No way to tell but by checking it out. How about I call Missouri and ask her. She’ll know. She’ll also probably already know what we want and tells us if she can help or not. So come on, grab your stuff, the sooner we can get out of here, the sooner we can start on this plan.” Dean could only nod, already grabbing his stuff and following his dad out of the diner and to the Impala.

Apparently, four years could be enough for Dean to forget how impatient his dad could get when he (when they) were on a mission. It was good to have him back.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived in the early afternoon, having driven for most of the day. His dad had even allowed him to man the wheel for the last hour or so. John had called Missouri from his motel room, barely getting to greet her before she told him to move his ass over; she might be able to help. So they hastily packed their stuff in the Impalas trunk, leaving the Camaro behind. Dean never felt right driving it anyway.

Being back in Lawrence without Sam, but with his father, felt surreal. Like an episode of The Twilight zone he had watched while he had been high as a kite. Missouri stepped out of her door and greeted them the minute they turned into her driveway, which didn’t help either.She waited by the door for them, her face having aged a bit, but her attitude was the same as ever.

“Hurry up, Winchesters. We ain’t have all day for you to get your stuff in the house.” With that she ushered them inside her house. “Put your bags to the coat rack and come to the living room, I made ice tea.”

They did as told, very thankful for the refreshing drink after the long drive on a hot day. _It has its perks to know a psychic, that’s for sure_ Dean thought. “I’m not your maid, just so we’re clear, my boy.” Damn.

“Yes, m’am. I’m sorry.” He answered sheepishly.

“I see I already taught you this lesson a few years ago.” At that, Dean looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m psychic, remember? You have to keep up darlin’. I just wish I could meet this sweet brother of yours, too. From what I see he is a great boy.”

“He is, m’am . The best.”

John watched their exchange with equally wide eyes. “You can see my son?”

“It’s all I can see as soon as I come near Dean. You boys must be really close, huh?” Dean must be dreaming because she actually winked at him. In front of his father! She couldn’t know, could she? The way she smirked at his inner freak out told him that yes, indeed she could. _Oh fuck_.

“It is that interesting amulet there you’re wearing. It has some personal meaning for you two, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, ah, yes. Yes it has. He gave it to me when we were kids, haven’t taken it off since then.” _Except when I was in hell and he wore it instead to keep it safe._

The last part he only thought, still not willing to let his father know how much shit the universe threw at them through the years. He had enough to take in as it was. Dean was sure Missouri had kept an ear out of his thoughts anyway. Her quiet “I see.” told him he was right about that.

“You see, his soul is bound to you through this amulet. This is why you’re not forgetting about him, why your memories of this life are not taking over. Without it, you would have already forgotten you ever had a brother.”

Dean’s mind was reeling after this revelation. It could not be true, in no world could he ever forget about Sam. It would mean he would forget about himself.

Giving him some time to sort his thoughts, Missouri addressed John instead. “You want to see him, don’t you? The son you feel was taken from you before you had a chance to know him.” After John simply nodded she continued. “With the help of Dean and the amulet I could give you a few minutes with your son. He would not be corporeal, but the projection of his soul, which is connected to Dean through this little piece of jewellery. You should at least know for what – or whom – you risk your life, John Winchester, because these angels you want to summon, they won’t be happy and they’re not someone you want to anger.”

Dean’s heart began to beat faster at the mention of seeing Sam. Really seeing him, outside of a dream. Because as much as he wanted to believe the dreams were real and he and Sam found a way to talk, a part of his mind still insisted that his dreams were exactly that, dreams. “What do I have to do?” He didn’t care about seeming overeager, hell, he couldn’t wait, and Missouri probably knew about his excitement anyway.

The psychic sent Dean to fetch some stuff she would need for the ritual while she and John silently set up the wooden table in the living room. Dean thought back to the time he was a ghost himself and Sam was the only living person who could sense him, even interact with him. He knew Sammy had had the amulet with him the whole time, ready to give it back to him as soon as he would wake up. He had a good feeling about what was about to happen.

After everything was where it belonged, they took their seats at the table, John to Dean’s right, and Missouri to his left, the amulet in their clasped hands, because apparently being closer to his heart helped the connection to his soul.

“I want you to think of your brother Dean. Envision him, call to him. You don’t have to do it out loud; he’ll feel it through your connection.” After that she started chanting in a calm voice, words he couldn’t make out. He shifted his attention away from her and to the image of his brother, smiling his dimpled smile, laughing with his full body after he got Dean good in one of their prank wars. Other pictures were coming now, the enticing length of his throat moist with sweat, his large hands skimming over Dean’s hips, his long legs carrying him effortlessly towards his big brother.

_Sam? Do you hear me? I need you to come to us. Dad is here, he wants to see you. I -, I need to see you, too. Please?_

Wind was picking up, making the candles flicker and the book sheets rustle. Then a familiar smell hit Dean’s nose, like fruity shampoo, fresh sweat and old dust. _Sam_.

“I’m here, Dean.”

Between where Missouri and his father were seated, just across from him, stood Sam, wearing his hideous purple dog shirt he lost ages ago. It should have been way too small by now, seeing how Sam gained more muscles than was fair, but it still fit. Soul-clothes apparently adapted quite well to hulking out.

Busy staring at his brother, he hadn’t noticed that they had stopped holding hands, his father standing instead of sitting at the table. Huh. He should start to pay more attention to his surroundings.

“Son?” His father’s voice sounded apprehensive, unsure of what to do. A tone he had never ever used with Sam before. He tentatively took a step forward, his hand outstretched, like touching Sam would confirm what his eyes already told him.

Sam’s brows were drawn together, the corners of his mouth turned downwards, his eyes big and shiny. His father nearly crumbled under the force of the puppy dog eyes, never confronted with them before. He lunged forward, ready to pull his lost son in a hug, but only meeting air. Missouri seemed to be right, he was just a projection.

“Dad.” The word coming out thin and broken. “I’m so sorry. So so sorry. I -.” His voice failed him, but their father had already token a step back, looking at his youngest son in wonder.

“What are you sorry for son? It’s not your fault your old man can’t hug you right now.”

“No. I’m sorry that I never told you how much I loved you. I was always trying to pick a fight, and for that I am sorry. Hell, the last time we spoke we were yelling at each other and my last memory of you is you asking me if we please could not be fighting. You did the best you could, I understand that now.” Sam looked like he was ready to cry any minute, and this was not how Dean had envisioned this meeting; but he also knew how much regret was still eating at his little brother. He needed to get this off his chest, even if this was not the right John.

“Son, I don’t know what happened between you and me, but I am not blind to how I can be sometimes and I know it takes two to fight. From what Dean told me, or rather, what he didn’t tell me, I can guess I would never win the father-of-the-year award. I’m sure your Dad knew you loved him very much. Hell, I can tell it from just looking at your face. Tell me, how often did you talk me into doing something with these puppy dog eyes, huh?”

“Not as often as he would’ve liked to, that’s for sure.” Dean chirped in, smirk in place.

“At least it worked on you really well, jerk.”

“You wish, bitch.”

They were both smiling stupidly at each other, forgetting where they were and under what circumstances.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the moment, boys, but we have to cut this short. This projection is taking a lot out of me, so if you have anything important to say, I would advise to just get it out.” Missouri sounded already strained and a part of Dean felt sorry that they put her through this, but another – bigger – part wished they could stay like this for hours, his eyes drinking up his brother like it’s been years instead of days.

John spoke up first, facing Sam again. “I just want you boys to know, I’m proud of you. From what I saw and heard, you two are doing one hell of a job saving people and hunting things. I really wish you could both stick around, let us be a family, but I guess you have to go back. But I’m honoured to have met you.”

For once not feeling squeamish in the face of this chick-flick-moment Dean looked Sam in the eyes, only saying one thing. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise.”

“I know, Dean. I know.”

And with that Sam was gone. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some ugly truths are revealed and Dean finds himself in even more trouble. Oh boy, these Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my dear friend and awesome beta! I love you girl <3 (Say Hello here: http://thefreakfox.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm sorry this is a bit late, life is busy and I also work on my "What is love?" series (go check it out!). But we're nearly there.

After Sam had disappeared, a heavy silence fell over the room, only slightly disturbed by Missouri’s exhausted breathing. The summoning seemed to have taken quite a toll on her, and Dean would feel sorry for making her do this, but he got a chance to see Sam – outside his own mind – and let John see his lost son. So he couldn’t bring himself to regret this, no matter what. Still, he hoped Missouri would recuperate from this ordeal soon. He stepped closer to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Can I get you some water? Or maybe tea?”

At his voice the psychic finally looked up, still looking tired, but already better than a minute earlier. “Some water would be appreciated. Thank you, dear.”

When Dean came back with some tap water, he noticed that John still hadn’t moved, his face still a picture of wonder. If the situation wasn’t as serious as it was, he would have laughed at this unknown side of John Winchester.

“Everything alright, Dad?”

After getting no reaction from his father, Dean went over to him, carefully lifting his hand to wave it in front of his face. Dean knew how hunter’s reflexes worked and he had no desire to get knocked out again by his dad. “Earth to John, can you hear me?”

This had the desired effect: John visibly gave a start, attention focused on Dean instead of someplace inside of himself. Dean could see the emotions shifting in the gruff face and was surprised to see his dad’s age reflected in his appearance. Grey hair streaked his beard, making it look more salt than pepper, lines digging trenches into his skin. But his hazel eyes – so much like Sam’s it sometimes hurt to look at them – were still keen. They were looking at Dean for a long moment before John was facing Missouri, resolve steeling his voice.

“We need a ritual to summon and bind an angel. It’s the only way to get Sam back. Can you help us?” It was obvious that meeting Sam had reinforced his father’s wish to help his son save his brother. He was really glad about this development, needing every help he could get. And who would you want more at your side when shit got tough than John Winchester himself?

Missouri had emptied her glass of water, looking still a bit weak but otherwise fine. Her eyes wandered from John to Dean, back to John again, her look assessing. When she stood up, the chair scratched over the hardwood floor, and Dean flinched a bit, surprised by the sudden motion. Good thing no one was paying him attention anyway, Missouri busy scanning through some large volumes and John stood anxiously next to her, twitching with the wish to do something, but afraid of Missouri’s wrath if he dared to touch anything. It was quite obvious that this was not the first time those two were working together, and Dean remembered belatedly that Missouri had been the one who first taught John about the supernatural after a demonic fire had claimed his wife.

Feeling a bit useless himself, he started to drift off, thinking about what he’d say to Cas once they managed to get him talking to them. He knew that this was not the rebellious angel he was used to, the guy who considered them as more than mud-monkeys, maybe even as friends. No, this Castiel was a fierce soldier of god, and as such most likely not inclined to help them save Lucifer’s vessel from oblivion. So, he either needed an argument that would appeal to the soft side he knew was in there, or an argument that would make him help out of fear. As much as he despised the last option, a part of him expected it to be the only way. He remembered Cas when they first met, his reluctance to accept Sam, referring to him as ‘ _the boy with the demon blood_ ’. It took a good part of a year to convince Cas that Sam was indeed a good man, better than most, never letting the angel feel any resentment for his earlier treatment of him. Chances were pretty slim some nice words from Dean would convince him of something he needed months to learn, never mention some serious shit going down for them.

“Found it!” Missouri’s voice was accompanied by a loud thump. In front of her was a huge tome, covered in black leather. Both Winchester men gathered around her, happy to have the chance to contribute. Missouri gave both of them a disapproving glare, clearly not happy with the two men invading her personal space. They both took a measured step back, and the psychic continued to look for something specific inside the book. After some browsing – interrupted by her reading a few lines here and there – she finally stopped at a page with some drawing of a white flower and some Latin text.

“This is it. A way to summon an angel and bind him; although not for long, their powers are usually too strong to contain for extended periods of time. I know you probably already thought of it Dean, but why not using holy oil to trap one?”

He had to give it to Missouri, she knew her stuff. Given how few people even believed in angels, it was even more impressing.

“You’re right, that would be great, but you do know we don’t have the time to travel to Jerusalem to get some, right?” It really was handy to have an angel who could zap around in seconds, getting them things from all over the world in the blink of an eye.

“I guess you’re right. Well, then this will have to do. The ritual itself is not overly complicated, even for amateurs, but you need a very rare flower for it.” She tapped on the painted plant on the opened page. “This is a ghost orchid, _Dendrophylax lindenii_. As far as I know she’s nearly extinct. If you have some of her petals the rest is pretty easy to gather. I suggest you get to work as soon as possible.” With that she dismissed both men and started to gather all the single sheets of paper that were blown through the room by Sam’s appearance.

“Soooo, that’s it?” Dean couldn’t help but ask. To be honest, he had hoped Missouri would have everything at hand and that they could start as soon as possible. But when did his hopes ever get fulfilled, anyway.

“What do you expect, boy? That I wave a magic wand? I found you a ritual, now you’ll have to do it. Besides, I have no desire to have an angel in my home. From what I gathered, they are not really the kind of company you want around.” With that, she went back to cleaning the room, clearly finished with their conversation. And what was there to add? Dean had to give her that; she did have a point there.

“Okay, okay. But you said the flower is nearly extinct. Do you have any idea where we can find it?” Dean found himself wishing for Sam and his seemingly unending knowledge of weird things. He bet Sam would have chimed in by now, telling them not only the exact location, but also all kinds of trivia about it, too. And sure, he mocked Sam for it more often than not, he was the big brother after all, but he had no problems admitting how proud he was of his geeky little brother.

“I’m sorry, but no, I don’t. It’s a coincidence I know the name of this flower in the first place, it was featured on a special about rare flowers on Discovery Channel. But I tuned out before they said where you could find them.” At Dean’s strange look she felt the need to add “I do own a TV and I tend to watch it from time to time. What did you think I do in my free time, chatting with ghosts and collecting candles?”

“As entertaining as this little exchange is, we should get a motel and start looking for this flower, don’t you think, Dean?” For a moment their father sounded exactly like Sam when he was impatient and tried to solve a case as efficient as possible. He always wondered why those two had never noticed how similar they were. That was one of the reasons they butted their heads so often in the first place. Knowing it was best to go along when John or Sam used this tone, he simply nodded and went to grab the book with the ritual.

“What do you think you’re doing? I never see this book again if I let you out of this house with it. I don’t need to be a psychic to know this. In my study is a printer with a copy function, I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do.” At Dean’s hesitance she actually made some waving motions with her hands. _Crazy woman._

“I heard that!”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Dean had copied the pages they needed, he and John hurried to find a motel to stay for the night, not willing to further bother the psychic in her home. As soon as John had them checked in – a double for both of them, even if Dean would have preferred his own room again – Dean started to boot the laptop his father had with him.

Finding this flower was easier than expected, thanks to the awesomeness that was Wikipedia. It really was pretty rare; one could only find it on the Bahamas, in Cuba and in Florida. Deciding that Florida was closest to them they made plans to crash for the night and drive south come sunrise.

Heading to bed made Dean anxious, not daring to hope he’d get to see Sam twice in one day, especially not if he was not alone in the room. He knew that this was a stupid, superstitious thought, but he couldn’t help himself. Even knowing it was his amulet that was binding them together – and Dean really liked this thought – there was no guarantee it would work every time he went to sleep. If there was any to be had this night anyway, with him tossing and turning, thousands of thoughts tumbling together and driving him crazy.

It took him several hours to settle down, sleep finally finding him closer to morning than night.

_He found himself in a deserted field, the only light coming from the headlights of the Impala and the moon above his head. At his feet was a cardboard box filled with fireworks and this time he instantly knew what memory they were revisiting._

_As if he heard Dean’s thoughts, Sam appeared at his side, dimples denting his happy face, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess this is before we burned the whole field down accidentally, then. Man, that was a great night! Do you remember the fireworks, Dean?” Sam’s voice was maybe deeper but right now it sounded a lot like it did back then, barely contained excitement at breaking some of dad’s rules and doing something fun with his big brother. He remembered how Sam had shined brighter than the moon and the stars combined, his radiant face illuminated by the burning firework. That was something Dean had thought of when he was in hell and the demons sliced into him over and over again, when darkness had threatened to overtake his soul, he had thought of the brightest thing he’d ever seen._

_“Yeah, Sammy. I remember.”_

_Something in Dean’s voice must have given away how his feelings threatened to overwhelm him, because at his words, Sam turned to him with concern in his hazel eyes. Instead of asking him if he was okay – probably knowing he would get the Winchester default answer of I’m fine – his hand curled around Dean’s neck, tugging him closer and slinging an arm around his shoulder, not quite hugging, but being close enough to share some warmth and comfort._

_As much as Dean was enjoying the silent and peaceful moment between them, he knew he wouldn’t have much time here._

_“We found a ritual to summon and bind an angel; we only need some kind of rare flower that only grows in the Everglades. Well, and the Bahamas, but who has time for that, right?” He may have sounded a bit wistfully saying that, but he honestly couldn’t remember the last time one of them had visited an actual beach, so he figured he was allowed._

_“Oh, you mean the ghost orchid? You could also find it in Cuba. But Dean, you really think it is a good idea to involve angels and then make them mad when you bind them?” Sam sounded more than a bit worried and if circumstances would have been different Dean would agree instantly, but with things how they were, he was prepared to take the risk._

_“It’ll be Cas, so I hope he won’t unleash his heavenly wrath upon me. Besides, I plan to ask nicely once and then all bets are off. I think we learned enough to make some convincing threats ourselves.” Of course he didn’t like the idea to threaten their feathery friend, but he didn’t expect much cooperation. And besides, he didn’t plan on follow through with his threats anyway. Mostly._

_“Dean, Cas is our friend. I know here he technically isn’t, but still. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you did something to him. I’m just asking you to think this through; I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me. Not again, and especially not you.”_

_Before Dean could say anything in reply Sam and the field disappeared._

“Son of a bitch!” he couldn’t help but curse. This whole ‘only-seeing-each-other-in-his-dreams’ shtick really sucked.

“Everything alright, son?” His father’s voice was coming from the tiny table at the door instead of from the other bed. That meant he was probably up for some time already, waiting for Dean to get his lazy ass out of bed, too. This nearly made him forget his annoyance, hurrying instead to get ready, so that they could hit the road and find this stupid flower. His father watched him with silent amusement, not offering a lot of conversation, but at least some coffee from the vending machine at the registration office. It took Dean not even twenty minutes to get ready - not his personal best, but close enough. And so they drove, all the way south to Florida, classic rock the soundtrack of their journey and both too lost in their thoughts to attempt any kind of conversation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took them over twenty-two hours to reach the Everglades national park, both exhausted by the day long drive. John had manned the last six hours while Dean had managed to find some sleep, the rumbling of the Impala’s engine his sweet lullaby. So they decided that John would get them a room, and Dean would try his luck with finding the flower.

It was harder and easier as expected at the same time to get his fingers on their missing ingredient. The park ranger told him where he could see some of these rare beauties, believing Dean’s charade of loving orchids so much he had driven all the way from New England to come here. What he didn’t expect was the swamp he had to vanquish first.

And so it came that a very tired and very muddy Dean Winchester walked into the motel room he would share with his father, his high spirits for finding the flower a bit dampened by the exhaustion spreading through his bones. But he did it, he found the last thing missing and now they could finally start with the ritual. The thought alone gave him a boost of energy, and he started gathering the necessary things as soon as he stepped through the door into the room. His enthusiasm wasn’t appreciated by his father though, who was woken by the sudden commotion, and was not happy about it.

“For Christ sake, Dean. You look like you crawled through the mud for hours. Go take a fucking shower. And after that, you’re gonna lie down and sleep for at least three hours. You’re no use dead on your feet.”

Dean was tempted to just ignore John, but his father’s tone left no room for such a reckless thing. He knew that tone; it was the one he had used when nothing else worked with a rebellious teenage Sam. It was his you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me voice. So Dean just grabbed some clean clothes from his duffel and trotted over to the bathroom, where he shut the door behind him with a tired sigh. He was so close. So close to having Sam where he belonged: right next to his big brother. His dad was right, of course, dead on his feet he was no help at all, but the thought of lying down and sleeping when he could be one step closer to getting Sam back was a bit frustrating. Delayed gratification never had been his thing, after all.

Shedding his clothes felt like peeling his skin off, the mud already dry and glued to his body. The shower’s warm water on the other hand was a very welcome relief. Still, he only allowed himself this luxury for a few minutes before he dried himself off and changed in a pair of worn jeans, an undershirt and a red flannel. He had to admit, it did feel good to be clean again. Maybe some shut eye would help him to feel human again, too. _But not more than two_ , an anxious and needy voice in his head whispered. He just hoped to see Sam again in his dreams, so that they could talk about his plans and how Dean could convince Cas to help him.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he was struck but a strange feeling. It took him some time to place it, but then he realized that he felt optimistic for the first time since he had woken up in bizzaro world. He should’ve known that this meant trouble.

He didn’t even fully step back into the main room when the door was flung open and two men barged into the room, followed by a blonde woman. His father had already grabbed the gun underneath his pillow, but the simple bullets couldn’t do much good against three demons. The largest of them got hold of John, slamming him into the wall repeatedly. The other two demons were closing in on Dean, who had nothing but his fists to defend himself. It was with startling clarity that he realized they had nothing on their hands to kill the demons, because without Ruby, they never learned to remake the bullets and they never got her special knife. _Fuck._

He chanced a look to his father and saw him lying limply on the floor, blood tripping from his hairline. “Dad!”

“He can’t hear you, kiddo. And he surely can’t help you now. About time we got a drop on you, we were looking everywhere for our precious little Winchester boy.” The woman basically cooed at him, her hand reaching out to pat his cheek. _Hell no._

“Hands off, lady. What do you want anyway? If you want to kill us, please spare us the tiring monologue.” He hoped this would make them talk for a bit, securing him some time to find an escape.

“Kill you? Why would we want to kill you, Dean-o? We just want to have a little chat with you, talk about some future relations.” While the woman was talking to him, he saw her male companions encircling him more and more. The only chance he saw was surprising them, breaking through their reigns by knocking down the leader. He had no idea how to rescue his father, but it wouldn’t help them to be both captivated.

“Future relations? I’m sorry, I don’t mingle with scum.”

With that he surged ahead.

He made it to the door before one of them – the one who knocked out his father, he absently noted – grabbed his shirt and hauled him backwards. Seconds later he found himself pinned against the wall by their leader, her delicate hand surprisingly strong against his throat.

“Now, now, Dean, that really was not nice of you. I told you, we don’t want to harm you. The boss just wants to see if you still got it in you. So open up, big boy.”

Dean couldn’t do anything except stare in horror when she held out her arm and one of the other demons sliced her wrist, making blood well up. He felt like his worst nightmares were coming true when she pressed the cut to his mouth. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw was aching, and he was fighting with his whole body against the hold they had on him. Then one of the guys put his fingers on Dean’s nose, effectively blocking his breathing. It didn’t took long for him to open his mouth slightly to get some air, but it was enough for the demon to force his jaw open even further, allowing blood to steadily trickle in his mouth. Soon it got too much, and he needed to swallow if he wanted to survive.

“There, there, that’s my boy. The boss will be very pleased. Soon the last seals will be broken, leaving only Lilith for you to kill, and then we can embrace a new era, our era.”

Dean’s ears were already ringing, and he was fighting the nausea that overtook him. Her voice was so grating in his ears, it felt like his head was exploding any minute. His skin felt too tight and little shockwaves were wrecking his body. Feeling him tremble made the demon laugh mockingly at him, and that was the moment rage took over, filling his every cell with fire. But instead of fighting it how he had done all these times before, he just closed his eyes and let it out.

A very high tone was still resonating in his ears, making him nearly deaf for any other noises, so it took some time for another sound to filter through to him. The demons were screaming in agony.

He opened his eyes to the gruesome picture of them burning alive, and he realized this was his doing. _He did that._

There was not much time to figure out how to feel about it, though, because a hot white pain shot through his head, making his knees buckles. He was out before his head hit the ground.

_He came to bound to a chair, and in front of him stood the yellow eyed demon, grinning like a madman at him. But that couldn’t be, they killed Azazel. John told him so._

_“Well, well, I have to admit it; I never thought your father would want to kill me so badly he’d use you as bait. His own son. But I’m delighted he did. And then he couldn’t even shoot me when I possessed his precious son. How delightful.”_

_Dean wanted to ask the bastard why he wasn’t dead already, but what came out of his mouth was something entirely different._

_“What do you want from me? You one of these sick bastards that like to play with their food before killing it?” He spit out instead. It was like he was watching the scene play out instead of being an active part of it._

_“Oh Dean, don’t play dumb with me. We both know I don’t want to kill you, far from it. You are my rising star. Or you will be, once we feed you some Wheaties. “_

_And with that, some invisible forced pulled his head back and opened his mouth wide. Azazel stepped in, big canister full of something red – demon blood, Dean’s mind supplied - in his hands. It was like a déjà vu of what happened mere minutes ago in their hotel room, but this time he felt none of the physical sensations he had back then._

_The feeding went on and on. Dean saw his body tremble but felt nothing of it, his mind still clear. Like this wasn’t happening to him, not really. Like it was a memory. The longer he thought about it, the more he believed that he was right; it was a memory the Dean of this world had lived through. Something he had most likely repressed, too traumatized from what had been happening to him, and worsened by his own father being responsible for it._

_As if he heard his son’s bitter thoughts, John Winchester himself charged into the room, Colt trained at the yellow eyed demon. But before he could even hit the trigger, the gun was flung away with one single wave of Azazel’s hand._

_“Oh Johnny boy, you really think I wouldn’t know you were coming? I waited for you. Well, Dean and I did. We wanted to show you something.” The demon had stopped feeding Dean, who realized that he was also free from the invisible force binding him to the chair. He wanted to run across the room, to get the gun and end this sick spiel. But he was rooted to the spot, because that was not what then-Dean had done._

_Azazel’s voice was whispering to him in his head ‘Do it, my child. He used you as bait; his revenge had more worth to him than the life of his own son. Show him what you can do, show him you don’t need him, just like he doesn’t need you. Make him beg for his own unworthy life.’_

_Then-Dean was under yellow eye’s control, the demon blood clouding his mind, painting his senses red. With a small gesture John was pinned to the wall, Dean’s powers choking him. This time Azazel whispered in his ear “You weren’t even meant for this, but look how you thrive with your powers. I bet little brother wouldn’t have taken to it as well as you do. Come on, my sweet little boy, finish what you’ve begun.” Then-Dean would have had had no idea what the yellow eyed demon was talking about, but somehow he knew that these words had struck a chord inside of him which resonated deep enough to break through the blood infused haze then-Dean had been in._

_With a roar he wrenched his hand around, summoning the Colt and shooting Azazel right between his filthy yellow eyes. And promptly passed out afterwards._

The next thing he knew hands were shaking him, a desperate sounding voice calling his name.

“Sammy?” he barely managed to croak out.

“No, it’s me, Dean. I found you passed out on the floor, the demons gone and the carpet burned. What happened?” So it really had been a memory, and he was still at the motel room where a bunch of demons had attacked his father and him. But before he could answer John, another wave of nausea hit him, accompanied by more images.

The next parts of then-Dean’s memories were hazy at best; the detox hadn’t been pretty but a lot better than what Sam had gone through, mostly because even if John had kept him locked up in some cellar, he had kept feeding him smaller and smaller doses of blood until he had stopped all together. The first few days afterwards were still bad but bearable, and a week later the itching had been gone completely.

So that was what had nagged him the whole time, the one memory he had problems accessing. And he could understand why then-Dean had repressed them, he really could. But why had John lied to him, why didn’t he tell him the real story how they’d killed the yellow eyed demon?

“You used me as bait.” was what actually came out of his mouth instead of all these questions. Because that was what really hurt. He was sure then-Dean had agreed to it, that John wouldn’t have done it against his will. But it had nearly cost them everything. Above all, it nearly cost Dean his soul, his freedom, his humanity. If the mention of a little brother he never knew of, but somehow felt deep within wouldn’t have broken the demon blood infused trance, then Dean would have killed his own father.

John could only stare at him, his gaping face funny if it hadn’t been for Dean’s heartbreak. “I saw the memory; I know what really happened with yellow eyed. How could you lie to me? How could you keep this to yourself? It’s like I don’t even know you!”

This made John snap out of it.

“I don’t even know myself. I don’t know how I could ever let that happen to you. Don’t you think I beat myself up about it every goddamn day? Why do you think we never hunt together anymore? Because we can barely look at each other. Every day I wish I could take it back, that you could look at me and see your father again and not the man who risked your life to get his revenge. That was what tipped me off that you weren’t you, because you talked to me with something else than indifference in your voice. You wanted to see me, to talk to me. And I saw a chance to make it better, to atone for some of my mistakes by helping you, by helping my sons. I did all of this because I wanted you to look at me like you loved me for a bit longer, and I knew that once you learned the truth, I would lose it all over again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean summons Castiel to ask for help but in true Winchester fashion things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry for the delay but RL stresses me a lot lately. Luckily my beta is as fast as Castiel! Thank you darling <3
> 
> Only one more chapter to go, what a ride so far. I hope you still like this fic and if you have a minute, tell me what you think :)

Dean had no idea what to say to his father’s explanations. He could understand where his father was coming from, at least a bit. Truth was he thought maybe his father, the John from his world, would have done the same. He remembers the half-truths, the kept secrets after he had vanished. Or his words in the car before they were hit by the semi ‘ _Killing this demon comes first. Before me, before everything._ ’ But Dean had always believed that John would draw the line when his sons lives were on the line. Looks like he had been wrong.

“Looks like you’re right about this. I don’t think I can look at you the same way ever again.”

There it was again, the unimaginable anger burning in his veins, fueled even more by the blood he was fed against his will. He needed to get away from his father and calm down before he said or – god forbid – did something he would regret.

Some of this must have shown on his face because John took a hesitating step back, an uneasy look on his face. With a start Dean realized that his own father and one of the best hunters in this world, John Winchester was afraid of him. This realization was enough to drain some of the anger from his body, leaving behind a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Dad, listen, I don’t think this is the right time or place to talk about this. It happened and now that I know the truth, maybe we can use it to our advantage and –“

“What do you mean, use it to our advantage? Dean, we need to get you clean of this stuff again. We do it like the last time. Don’t worry, soon you can forget about this whole mess, you don’t have to be a –“ John stocked, looking even more guilty at the words he was about to say. Dean had a horrible sense of déjà vu when he remembered himself calling someone a monster who certainly didn’t deserve it. Oh how he wished he could take those words back.

“Say it. You think I’m a monster. And maybe you’re right, I’m truly no innocent. But I’m not gonna give up on the only advantage that I have. If it helps me to get Sam back then fine, I’ll be the monster. And no one is going to stand in my way. No demons, no angels and certainly not you.” And with that Dean used the handle of his gun to knock John out.

He proceeded to bind him to a chair, the situation an ironic reversal of how they met face to face for the first time here in bizzaro world. A part of him felt sorry for what he had done, but that wouldn’t stop him because a bigger part was screaming, his veins on fire. With what, he was not sure. The need for Sam was a burning fire that kept consuming him with every minute that ticked by but the demon blood had ignited another flame, one that gave not warmth nor light but fueled all those dark desires he harbored. _Drink. Fuck. Kill_. It was war inside of Dean Winchester and he needed to act quickly before the dark flames succeeded in eating up all the goodness in him and left nothing but a shell.

He gathered the things they had picked for the ritual and shoved it all into his duffel. After he had knocked John out how much worse would it be to steal his wheels as well, he wondered briefly and decided it didn’t matter any way. He planned to be long gone before his father caught up to him. Long gone, preferably with Sam at his side, and if this didn’t work out than even farther out of reach.

With the Impala speeding down the highway and classic rock filling the car Dean felt marginally better about things. Sure he’d maybe acted out of line but the thought of going through detox and wasting even more time – not to mention a very powerful asset – had driven him crazy. John would understand, with his quest for revenge equal to Dean’s own obsession with saving Sam. If given the chance to actually save Mary, Dean wouldn’t want to imagine the lengths John would’ve gone to do so. What was the saying? All is fair in love and war.

Dean had driven for over ten hours before he had finally reached his destination, a small hunting cabin in the Fort Mountain State park, close to LaFayette. This was a cabin the Dean of this world knew nothing about – and so did John probably – something he and Sam had light upon one day by accident. He decided to set up camp here and summon Castiel, not only because of its secluded location but also because he knew that Jimmy Novak didn’t live far from there. He remembered Castiel’s words when he had possessed Jimmy’s daughter Claire. This bloodline represented Castiel’s true vessels, so the fastest way to get him here and talking would be to bring him close to his vessel already, because Dean had no desire to get his ears bleeding or his eyes burnt out.

Preparing the ritual was pretty easy, some burning herbs, some human blood, some stupid sounding words and setting fire to the thing. Voilà.

When he felt the atmosphere was changing around him and the air started to feel charged with energy, he knew that Castiel was close, so he instantly ordered him to get his vessel before coming to the cabin and talking to him, knowing that the binding spell was strong enough to hold the angel for now. He also knew that if Castiel really wanted to break the spell, that he maybe could, but that his friend would also be intrigued as to why a human was going to such lengths only to talk to him. He would come, so all Dean had to do was waiting. He hated waiting.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took Castiel over three hours to get to the cabin, and if it would’ve been the Cas he knew by now, he would’ve said he did it on purpose to mess with him. This one probably took his sweet time to show who’s in charge here. _As if_. Dean still felt the power thrum through his body and couldn’t tell what he would do if the angel refused him.

This time Castiel’s entrance was less impressive than the first time they met in Dean’s world. One moment Dean was sitting on the small bed waiting for something to happen and the next Castiel stood on his right, way too close for human standards of personal space. He had forgotten that this version hadn’t had the lessons in personal space his angel had.

Moving away a bit he looked up at the familiar face and felt a wave of nostalgia. Most of all he wanted Sam back, but he also missed the rest of his life, his friends. Sure, he had complained a lot about how shitty things were with the apocalypse and Sam’s betrayal, but now he realized how much good stuff there was, too. Things – people – he wanted around and missed. It just reinforced his resolve to see this through, no matter what. He just had to hope that he didn’t lose everything in the process, including himself.

“What do you want, Dean Winchester?” Castiel’s voice startled him. Why did this guy always sound like he had a sore throat anyway?

“I thought you guys know everything that’s going on, so why don’t you tell me?” He couldn’t help his cheeky reply, these feathery douchebags grated on his nerves, and right now Castiel acted like one of them.

“You maybe summoned me here and bound me to you, but that does not mean that you can be disrespectful. I’m still an angel of the lord and could smite you with the blink of an eye. Besides, do you think it will incline me to help your petty pleas if you act like this, human?” Dean hated to admit it – even to himself – but the guy was probably right. He needed to swallow his pride and general dislike of the heavenly tax accountants and just remind himself that this was Cas. Kind of.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just say I had some not so nice encounters with your kind, leaves a man kind of peeved, you know. But you are your own man – angel – and I will treat you with more respect.” At that the angel looked at least somewhat appeased. In true Castiel manner, he cocked his head to the right, a sign that Dean should continue.

“You may not know this, but I’m not from this universe here. I mean the body – yes, but me? Not so much. And where I am from, we do know each other. Quite well, actually. I would even say we’re friends.” Given that Castiel’s face never showed a broader range of emotions than a tea spoon, it was quite disheartening to notice the doubtful look on the angel’s face. “We really are. You saved me from hell; you rebelled for me and mankind to stop the apocalypse. Or at least we still try to stop it. And that’s why I called you, man. I need your help.” The last bit came out softer than Dean had intended, but he was just tired of all of this.

“You want your brother back, I assume?”

“How’d you know? I thought you didn’t know what I wanted?” Dean was flabbergasted. _What the fucking hell?_

“I never said that. I wanted to hear what you have to say on the matter. And I have to say I’m surprised to hear that we have apparently been friends, as you put it. I was not informed about this from my supervisors. But it doesn’t matter. I know what you want, and I can’t give it to you. You’re wasting your time. Now let me go.” This was all said without the slightest inflection, like Castiel had just recited something he was taught to say.

“You _can’t_ give it to me or you _won’t_ give it to me?” Dean wouldn’t give up that easily. He knew how powerful angels were, and he highly doubted that this one was simply unable to do it. Dean suspected some higher orders behind the refusal.

“Fine. I won’t. My sources told me that your brother – Sam Winchester – will free Lucifer from his cage and therefore start the apocalypse. I can’t allow that.”

“So what you’re saying is that some feathery supervisor told you you’re not allowed, and of course you carry out these orders blindly like the good little soldier you are.”

“Your misconceptions about my reasons – which are none of your concern nonetheless – are astonishing. I refuse to help this mission because I have no desire in seeing the world burn and I would have thought you – as a hunter – would feel the same way.” Castiel was driving Dean insane with his cool and collected attitude, talking like this was just a discussion about the weather. _My world is already burning without him_ , he wanted to say, but he doubted the angel would understand the meaning of this admission. What it would mean for Dean to speak like this.

“I guess you wouldn’t believe me if I told you that Sam and I are already doing everything we can to stop what we started? Or that the absence of Sam doesn’t mean you are safe from the apocalypse? Because that’s as far from the truth as you can get. You know who the demons want to free Lucifer? Who they want him to wear like a suit? _Me._ Yellow eyed fed me the demon blood; I have the powers Sam was supposed to have. But who do you have to contain Michael, huh? If their plan works you are so screwed. And I’m telling you something, Castiel. If you won’t help me, I promise you, I won’t say _Yes_ to Lucifer but I will let this world burn piece by fucking piece. So I’m gonna ask one last time: Will you help me?”

If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was a bit thrown by what came out of his mouth, but maybe even more shocking was that he had meant every word. Castiel was his best shot – and maybe even his only one –at getting Sam back, so if he refused to help Dean, then Dean had no idea what he would do. But it wasn’t going to be pretty. And he _knew_ that Sam wouldn’t want this, and a part of him urged him to rethink his choice, but an even bigger part – the one that had given in when Sam had kissed him the night of the fireworks – didn’t care as long as he could finally wrap his arms around his brother again.

“You, a weak human, are threatening me, an angel of the lord? You must be delusional. If you let me go right now, I will let you live, but you won’t see another day if you don’t. So what will it be, Dean Winchester?”

Dean had forgotten how self-righteous Cas had been back in the days, and how much he had been annoyed and angered by it. Seeing how much the demon blood that was still pumping through his veins intensified such negative emotions, it was not surprise what happened next. With simply extending his hand, Dean had Castiel pinned to the motel wall, immobilized by the powers that were now part of Dean. He finally understood why Sam had relished in this feeling. Dean felt like he could take on the world and had not to worry about anyone stepping in his path.

The hunter stepped closer to the helpless angel and enjoyed to see the first cracks in his armour of self-righteousness.

“I think I take neither option, but thanks.” He smirked, because it was quite clear who was in charge now. “Listen, I told you where I am from we are friends, so I know underneath all this dickish exterior is a good guy somewhere. Because of that – and the fact that Sammy asked me to not hurt you – I let you stay in one piece. But never doubt for a second that I could rip you apart with the snap of my fingers. Never forget this. I will show you that I was serious about what I said; you won’t help because you don’t want the world to burn? Well, it will burn if you won’t. Just wait and see.”

With that Dean went to pick up his things, not noticing the dark and powerful aura that came into being around him. But Castiel did, and for the first time since he had heard the human’s calling, he felt truly afraid. “Dean, wait. We should talk about this. You don’t want –“

“You have no idea what I want, angel. I want my brother, that’s what I want. Your heavenly schemes took him from me and now I’m getting him back. So, will you help me or not?”

“I can’t. It’s not right. I’m sorry.” For the first time Castiel sounded truly sorry about the fact, so all Dean could say in reply was

“Me too. You will know where to find me if you change your mind. Hasta la vista, Cas.”

And with that Dean was out of the door, leaving behind a distraught angel.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean had been right. You didn’t need to have supernatural powers to know where he was; you just needed to watch the news.

When he had said he’d let the world burn, he hadn’t been kidding. All over the states holy sites were going up in flames. It was still enough Dean left in him to always make sure they were empty before he set fire to them, but the devastation and the fear he caused didn’t go unnoticed. It was simply a question of time before there were human casualties as well.

Castiel knew he had to do something, fast. His options weren’t ideal though. He could try to smite Dean, but for once he was not sure he could win this fight, and secondly he would like to avoid killing him for the same reasons Dean Winchester had spared his life.

They had been friends in the universe this Dean had come from, good friends who respected each other and had gone through much together already. After Dean had told him about their unlikely relationship with each other, he had done his own research on the matter and was staggered to learn how far the friendship between him and both Winchesters went. He had refused to help one of his sisters to take Sam Winchester’s life; he had even tried to kill her before she could try. He had rebelled heaven for these humans. The thing was, as much as he was proud to be a heavenly soldier, he also often felt out of place amidst his brethren. This new knowledge he had gathered about his relation to these humans had unleashed a longing that confused him deeply, but steeled his resolve to not harm Dean Winchester unless necessary. Unfortunately, this could be soon.

He had one other option that might actually work, if the things he saw and heard about the Winchesters were true. But when he thought back to Dean’s distraught face when he told the angel all he wanted was his brother, then it probably was. So he asked the one person for help that could actually get through to Dean; _his brother_.

As an angel he was able to use the same ritual Missouri Mosley had used – not that he knew about this incident – and conjure Sam Winchesters soul, as long as it was still bound to this plane through something. He just had to take this chance and try; he had to have faith that Lucifer’s true vessel was the good man his brother made him out to be.

To be able to travel faster than light was certainly helpful to gather the necessary ingredients, so that five minutes after his decision, Castiel was already able to set his plan in motion. He was lacking the thing that tethered Sam to this plane but he rightfully guessed it was in Dean’s ownership and therefore unreachable for him. He had to trust his own – much stronger powers – to make this ritual work nonetheless.

“Sam Winchester? Can you hear me? I need your assistant in an urgent matter that concerns your brother Dean. I ask you to show yourself to me.”

For a long moment nothing happened at all; a fact that made Castiel already think over other possible ways to achieve his goal, while also figuring out ways to take out a very powerful being. But then he heard a very soft voice that sounded like it came from very far away.

“What is wrong with Dean? Is he hurt? What can I do?” It seemed to take the younger Winchester much effort to communicate with Castiel, and his form was barely visible as well. But even without much substance his face was still conveying the expression of utter anguish at the prospect of his brother being in danger. This was enough for Castiel to do something he would have never considered before meeting this unlikely pair; he added some of his angel blood to the herbs used for the ritual and so transferred bits of his own strength to Sam.

The effect was immediate. A moment later a young man stood in front of the angel; tall and good looking, if it wasn’t for the pain and worry apparent on his handsome face. He looked nearly solid and his voice when he asked for his brother again sounded much stronger.

“Cas! Thank god, it’s you. Dean summoned you to help us, right? Where is he? Don’t we need him for you to bring me back?” The young man was much friendlier and polite than his older brother, that much was obvious for Castiel. He didn’t demand or was disrespectful towards him or any angel in general with as much as opening his mouth – not like some other Winchester he could name – and Castiel found himself liking this man, despite what he knew was Sam Winchester’s destiny.

“Your brother is currently spreading fear and violence over America because I refused to help him.” At that, the human’s face took on an even more pained look, and the angel felt the sudden urge to add “It is nothing personal; but I can’t allow Lucifer to walk the earth and –“

“No, I understand. I do. I would freely agree to end my existence if this would revoke all the mistakes I made. I’m just so sorry that Dean is going through all of this and that he is causing suffering right now. I need to talk to him, make him see – I don’t want to lose my brother either, but maybe I can make him let me go. I have to try. Can you take me to him, Cas?”

Castiel was taken off guard by this sincere and selfless reply he received from the younger Winchester. He would have expected at least some negotiating or pleas for him to change his mind. The picture he had of Sam Winchester changed by the minute. Maybe he was wrong in his plain refusal to help these brothers?

Just as he was about to answer, they were startled by loud noises coming from the still running TV. It was still tuned on the news channel, which broadcasted a live stream from the largest church in the United States – Lakewood Church in Houston – burning to the ground while people stood outside of it with shock and disbelief plain on their faces. Some were screaming or crying, and more than one crossed themselves. The camera was panned on an old woman who described with tears on her face how a man had marched into their mess and had ordered them all to get out. He had fire burning in his eyes, and his voice had made the walls around them shake, so they had all been running for their dear lives.

“We need to go. Now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My affinity to cliffhangers is a problem. I'm sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas arrived at the church but will what they find still be Dean?

“We need to go. Now!” the usually so collected Castiel practically shouted.

“But we need to find Dean first, Cas. Do you have any idea where he is?” Sam understood that these people needed help but they certainly had a better shot at fighting this thing if they had Dean by their side.

“Where do you think? He is the one responsible for this atrocity. I was not joking when I told you he is spreading fear and violence across America. We need to stop him.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he had just heard. That couldn’t be _his_ Dean’s doing. His big brother, who always tried to save everyone, who took every lost life personal and carried the guilt with him – he should be the one responsible for the sheer terror on these people’s faces? _No fucking way._

“No fucking way. He can’t be, he – Cas you don’t know him, not like I do. He would never endanger other people’s lives like this.”

“The Dean you know, Sam Winchester, is not a Dean who ever had to deal with a world that was empty to him, a world without his soulmate. This is a hopeless and despairing version of your brother and he needs to be stopped at any cost before he truly makes the world burn.”

Sam’s attention was caught at the word _soulmate_ for a minute before jumping to the most important part of Castiel’s words. “What do you mean ‘ _at any cost_ ’? This is my brother we’re talking about.”

“Sam, this is most definitely not the time for discussions. We need to get to Dean this instant.” And with that Castiel touched his fingers to Sam’s forehead and the world turned on its axis.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Their sudden arrival at the Lakewood Church was barely noticed with all the people running around and the general chaos that surrounded the place. They saw smoke above the building and an invisible force was stopping the fire fighters from getting inside. Sam’s eyes were wild and unbelieving. This had to be a nightmare. Except, in his nightmares it was always him causing pain and destruction and Dean witnessing it all, disgusted with the monster he had for a brother. But Dean was no monster, he was a good man to whom bad things had happened and he just needed to make him see that.

Cas already hastened to get inside the building and Sam hurried to keep up with the agitated angel, who wore thunder on his usually impassive face. “You will have one chance to get your brother back in line, Sam, before I will show him what it means to suffer from heaven’s wrath.” With that he marched on without sparing Sam another glance. Sam decided that now truly was not the time for discussions and followed this version of his angelic friend. Together they walked through the barrier that kept everyone else outside like it didn’t even exist. But for someone as non-substantial as Sam was right now, it probably didn’t anyway.

Inside they were met with more chaos, half the building was already in ruins, but thankfully they only saw material damage. Sam knew his brother would try to not hurt anyone as long as there was still something of Dean Winchester left inside him. There was still hope.

Finding Dean was not hard because he made quite the commotion in the main hall where the altar was located. Approaching him without getting hit by a bench or other piece of furniture was a bit harder, at least for Cas. Sam still ducked, even if things tended to just fly through him. Castiel used his angelic powers when an especially huge boulder was flying their way, smashing the thing in pieces mid-air, and this, finally, got Dean’s attention. At first he was looking at them like he didn’t recognize them, like it could have been anybody standing there and not his best friend and the little brother he had loved all his life. His eyes were dead and distant, the fire burning in them a cold flame that had begun to turn his heart to ice.

But then Sam took a step towards his brother, just like he had done since he was a toddler, his body only ever knowing one direction, one true north and that was Dean. A change came over the older Winchester’s face then and his dead eyes regained their life when he realized who was in front of him.

“Sam?” His voice full of wonder, like he had stopped to hope they would ever meet again and he couldn’t quite understand how this had changed. Sam himself was not much better off, still reeling from all the destruction his brother had caused but also feeling a bone-deep ache inside of him, a familiar longing that only ever really went away when they were so close, you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other begun. So the only thing Sam could do was nod.

That seemed to be enough though, because before Sam could really understand what was happening, he had Dean running to him, his eyes wild and glistening with unshed tears and his arms, ready to wrap around his little brother without allowance to ever let go again. When Sam finally caught on, Dean was already there and it was too late to stop him, to warn him that Sam was still very much an illusion right now. Fate was a cruel mistress.

Instead of warm flesh Dean’s body connected with the cool stone of the floor, having gone straight through Sam. His face looked startled and then downright betrayed, facing Sam with disbelief in his eyes before he turned on Castiel and roared “Is this a cruel joke? Or is this punishment, torture for denying you angels your precious respect?”

Castiel considered the furious human with calm resolution, not cowed by the dark energy radiating from him. “It is neither, Dean Winchester. After our ‘ _talk’_ and your mention of our apparently friendly relationship in your world, I made some inquiries and found you were telling the truth. So I decided that, instead of smiting you for destroying these places of worship right away, I would give your brother the chance to talk you off whatever edge you’re on. Should he not succeed I see no other way than to terminate your existence. Consider yourself warned. “

Even if Castiel talked like his grandfather (would he have been a tax accountant, that is) Dean thought the message was loud and clear. What he didn’t understand was Sam’s role in this. They had talked about this and agreed that Cas was probably their best shot at rescuing Sam, so Dean was just doing what was necessary to convince the angels to help them. And they had it coming with their cruel games and heartless ways. They never cared about them, so why should they care in return?

“No, you should consider yourself warned, Cas. I told you already, all I care about is getting my brother back. You want to ‘terminate my existence’? You think you are actually stronger than me?” With that, Castiel was thrown through the room without Dean moving even one tiny muscle. “I doubt that. In a fight, I could take you without blinking an eye. After all, in this world I am Lucifer’s vessel. There is only one thing I can’t do and that is traveling through time. But if you won’t help me I’m sure a bit more destruction will convince one of your feathery pals. But you won’t come in my way again. Say goodbye, Cas.”

Just when Dean was about to lift his hand, palm turned towards the angel on the floor, Sam blocked his aim. “Dean, look at me. You don’t want to do this. I know you think this is the only way and maybe you’re right, maybe the angels are our only hope. But Dean, do you really think this is worth it?” _Do you really think I am worth it_ was what lay underneath this question, and for Dean there was only ever one answer to it. His face turned soft and his voice gentle when he addressed his little brother.

“You are worth _everything_ , Sam. And I’m so sorry I ever made you think you aren’t. I was hurt and I lashed out, but the truth is, no matter what you do or what choices you make, you will always be worth everything to me. So please step away and let me do what needs to be done.” Dean’s face had hardened with resolution again at his lasts words.

“No! I know I can’t physically stop you, but please, listen to me. I feel the same, you know? You are worth everything, big brother, and with doing what you are about to do I would lose you, too. Because that wouldn’t be you anymore, not the hero I looked up to all my life. The man who always cared too much and whose only wish in life was to hunt monsters and save people. You sacrificed your own happiness over and over again to make someone else’s life better and I always wished you could stop that, to allow yourself some peace and rest, but now I need to ask you for one more sacrifice. Let me go, Dean. _Please_. You are a good man, don’t lose that. Not for me.”

During Sam’s speech all fight had gone out of Dean. Sam was just not getting it and Dean blamed himself for not letting him in more, for not telling him all the things he had kept bottled up for far too long. _Forgive me, little brother for ever making you doubt this simple truth._

“But don’t you see, Sam you are the one thing that saved me from the ways I tend to be. I’m not a good man, but you are the reason I want to be a better man. I told you once, we keep each other human, and Sammy, you have no idea how much I mean this. I get scared of the way I become when you’re not around. My hell is not in the fiery pits below, but in having to live through even one day without you.”

Sam was looking at him with so much love and wonder that it was hard to take.

“For someone with an aversion to chick-flick moments this was very sweet, jerk.”

“What can I say, I learned from the best, bitch.”

They were both grinning at each other through the tears in their eyes, communicating without words what they had to do. Dean just hoped that Sam got the sweet spot in heaven he deserved.

They both turned towards Castiel, who had watched the whole exchange silently. With one last glance at Sam, Dean bowed his head slightly when he addressed the angel.

“I still think after all we’ve done for this world that Sam and I deserve to get our happy ending, just once. But I understand that you won’t give it to us and I have probably no right to ask you for anything, but Cas, for the sake of our friendship, before you smite me I beg you for one last thing. Make Sam corporal, just for a minute, just so I can say goodbye.”

If Castiel was surprised with this change of heart in Dean, he didn’t let it show. He simply gave them a long contemplating look before he slowly nodded and laid a hand on Sam’s heart, apparently able to touch him even in this form. A bright light spread from underneath his hand and enveloped Sam wholly before it dissipated just as fast as it had appeared.

“You have one minute.”

He didn’t need to tell them twice. In the blink of an eye they were wrapped around each other, desperately clutching their other half and jealously refusing to let even air get between them. They stood like that for what felt like forever and not even a second at the same time, still feeling like it was not close enough, like it was never enough as long as their soul still had to exist in two bodies. And when Dean looked up in the warm and loving eyes that had followed him all his life, he knew that there were a lot of things he regretted, but Sam was still here with him, Sam still loved him and that meant that maybe he was, after all, a good man. How else would he deserve this?

For once not annoyed that he had to raise himself on his tip-toes to reach the lips of his Sasquatch, he fused their mouths together and poured everything he felt in their last kiss. _I love you, Sammy._

Then everything went black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he blinked his eyes open the next time he was faced with his mother looking at him stubbornly.

“Okay. You said you'd explain everything when we had a minute. We have a minute. Why does an angel want me dead?”

Dean couldn’t believe it. This had to be a dream, he couldn’t be back, Castiel had said no, he had said – _This is your only second chance, Dean Winchester. Use it wisely._

The little fucker. _Thank you, Cas. I’ll make it up to you, I swear._

“Because you and John are a threat to their precious plans and they’re ruthless dicks. Apparently, that’s reason enough for them.” Dean hated lying to their mum but he had seen the alternative and had to avoid it at all costs.

“Yeah, Dean is right. They tried to kill us and our friends more than once just because we don’t play by their rules. So we decided to help fellow hunters who incur danger because of them.”

They exchanged one long look to be sure they were on the same page about this. It really was for the best.

And when Anna had charged into their midst they had been ready this time. Michael still made an appearance but had to hold his speech in front of both Winchesters, his words about unchangeable destinies falling short after what they had been through.

Seemingly frustrated with this turn of events and worried about two humans defying heavens plans Michael decided to play one last card. He raised his hands and touched the Winchester’s foreheads with the tips of his fingers, smirking when they vanished.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“This is the worst hangover of my entire life.” Dean groaned from the bed he was lying on. Sam could only grunt in response.

“At least we saved Mum and stopped Anna, even if my memories are kind of fuzzy on this one. What about you?” Dean couldn’t help himself, he felt like something was not quite right. He remembered them talking to their mom about the future, hell, they had told her that they were her sons and begged her to leave their dad. Or hadn’t they? As soon as he wanted to focus on this particular memory his head hurt even worse.

“I don’t know, man. I remember Mom, how we told her it would be better if we would never be born and then Anna got the drop on us and she stabbed me, I think? After that – nothing. But I can’t help the feeling that there is more to this. But maybe this whole time travelling stuff messed with our heads.” Sam sounded like he didn’t believe this himself.

Hefting himself up with another groan, Dean scrambled over to his duffel and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, while Sam got up to use the bathroom. Halfway there he was startled by another reflection appearing in the mirror the moment he passed it.

“Castiel.” Sam turned around and grabbed hold of Castiel, keeping him from falling. “Hey. Hey, hey. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Startled by the commotion Dean nearly dropped the bottle. “Cas!”

Together they got an unconscious Castiel situated on Dean’s bed, a bit at a loss what to do with him. They both stood there and contemplated the angel when Dean said “Well, I could use that drink now.”

After pouring himself and Sam some of the brown liquor he continued “Well...this is it.”

“This is what?” asked Sam while taking a sip from his tumbler.

“Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there. It's awesome.”

“It's not funny.”

“I'm not laughing.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the same time in heaven, one could hear Zachariah laughing after Michael had told him how he had averted a strengthening of the brother’s bond after their shared adventure in an alternative universe by altering their memories and erasing everything they had experienced there.

“They had managed to use this situation to bond even further, can you believe it? They had started to talk about their issues and their feelings, nearly ruining our plans. But now that had never happened for them. Not long now until we break Dean Winchester, I can feel it. One more failing from his brother and we have him there. I trust you to see to that, Zachariah?”

“Yes, Michael. I already have some ideas. I might need to visit another Winchester. Thank our father I don’t have to visit earth to do this.”

“Very good. Not long until this will all be over, as soon as these two understand that sometimes your brother can’t be saved and you have to do what your father asked you all along.”

After all, he hadn’t been able to save Lucifer, hadn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow what a ride! My first multi-chapter story and the longest thing I have ever written. I'm sure it could do with some serious editing and it's maybe not the best thing I've ever written to but I'm still immensely proud of it.
> 
> I need to say some thank yous:
> 
> Tami, thank you for your awesome beta skills, your patience with me and your highly entertaining comments. You are the very best <33
> 
> Rose, thank you for fangirling with me about this idea when it was only a tiny sad headcanon, without your encouragement and enthusiasm this baby would have never been born!
> 
> And a very special thank you to all of you who read my fic, left me kudos and commented on it! Yiu kept me motivated through all of it and I couldn't be more thankful.


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